THE  TRAIL  OF  THE 
GRAND  SEIGNEUR 


OLIN  L.  LYM  AN 


<te 


THE  TRAIL  OF 
THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR. 


RENEE   DK   MONTEFORT 


TheTrailofthe 
Grand  Seigneur 


BY 


OLIN    L.    LYMAN 

With  Colored  Illastrations  from  Paintings 
by    J.    Steeple    Davis   and   Clare   Angell 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

NEW    YORK 


COPYRIGHT   1903 

BY 
NEW  AMSTERDAM  BOOK.  COMPANY 


TO 

A.   OAKES 


2136700 


FOREWORD 


At  the  foot  of  Ontario  the  old  hamlet  drowses  in 
its  simple  peace,  the  peace  of  an  old  military  post 
which  fronts  the  waters  where  once  two  warring  na- 
tions, now  at  amity,  maintained  embattled  fleets 
whose  psuedo-wrestlings,  after  all,  were  productive  of 
but  little  more  mortality  than  wind  and  wave  now 
entail  to  the  following  of  the  peaceful  pursuits  of 
commerce.  There  is  but  little  at  the  old  post  to 
perpetuate  its  memories  of  former  glories.  Only  the 
barracks,  where,  from  time  to  time,  some  regiment 
of  U.  S.  regulars  rests  from  the  labors  of  campaign- 
ing; the  old  graveyard  where  lie  the  bones  of  Pike 
and  other  patriots  of  the  struggle  of  1 8 1 2 ;  the  bat- 
tleground where  the  batteries  once  frowned;  manned 
by  simple  sons  of  the  soil,  who,  withal,  were  Amer- 
icans, and  therefore  marksmen  for  the  world  to  mar- 
vel at.  Only  these,  and  some  odd  scraps  of  history, 
some  hoary  traditions,  and  the  intangible  something 
of  the  thrilling  past  that  hovers  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  old  town.  These  are  all,  but  they  make  of  it 
a  thing  alive;  they  resurrect  the  past. 

O.  L.  L. 

Sackets  Harbor,  N.  Y.,  November,  1902. 


THE    ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGb 

Renee  de  Montefort Frontispiece 

Doubling  his  fist,  he  drove  it  straight  into  the  mouth 

of  his  opponent, 39 

There  stood  Dorothy! 120 

Snatching  the  glass  from  the  fellow's  hand,  he  lunged 

at  me .        .     157 

Suddenly  there  burst  into  view  a  cloud  of  tawny,  rush- 
ing forms, 256 

Well,  good-bye  to  you  ! 357 

There  is  one  with  a  better  right !     Look  at  the  dog !    407 


CONTENTS 


Foreword  ....... 

CHAPTER 

I.  An  Opportune  Dian          . 

II.  With  Samaritans 

III.  Renee 

IV.  John  Godfrey 

V.  A  Bravo  and  a  Bond 

VI.  My  Dream  Lady 

VII.  The  Cast  of  the  Die 

VIII.  The  Recruits 

IX.  The  Spy       .       .       .       . 

X.  The  Chase  .       . 

XL  Lieutenant  Stranahan 

XII.  The  Alarm  . 

XIII.  A  Broken  Sabbath   . 

XIV.  Two  Graves 

XV.  In  the  Lion's  Jaws  . 

XVI.  Red  Rolfe    . 

XVII.  At  the  King's  Inn     . 

XVIII.  A  Duel  and  a  Revelation 

XIX.  A  Friend  in  Philistia 

XX.  Gray  Wreathing  Mists     . 

XXI.  In  Frontenac 

XXII.  A  Wintry  Interlude  .       . 

XXIII.  The  Brand  of  the  Bravo 

XXIV.  A  Leaf  from  the  Past 


PAGE 

I 

8 

16 
26 
34 
45 
56 

7i 
81 

89 

95 
104 
no 

122 
129 
139 
IS1 

161 

171 

184 
195 

209 

220 
231 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXV. 

The  Woe  from  Frontenac 

PAGB 

243 

XXVI. 

The  Strength  of  Ten 

257 

XXVII. 

Futility          

270 

XXVIII. 

The  Three  Musketeers 

276 

XXIX. 

The  Rope  Job    

288 

XXX. 

A  Wanderer's  Return 

293 

XXXI. 

When  Women  Dare   .... 

308 

XXXII. 

•?oo 

XXXIII. 

A  Broken  Dream       .... 

o    v 

317 

XXXIV. 

Out  Into  the  Night  .... 

325 

XXXV. 

The  Lion  Caged        .... 

337 

XXXVI. 

The  Proving  of  Cyrenus 

346 

XXXVII. 

The  Enemy  Paves  the  Way   . 

359 

XXXVIII. 

Unmasked   

366 

XXXIX. 

Cyrenus  Smites  the  Rock 

376 

XL. 

The  Trail  of  the  Grand  Seigneur  . 

387 

XLI. 

A  Cry  in  the  Night  .... 

394 

XLII. 

In  the  Shadow  and  Beyond  . 

399 

XLIII. 

Till  the  Book  Unfolds      . 

410 

XLIV. 

The  Paths  of  Peace  .... 

419 

CHAPTER  I 
An  Opportune  Dian 

I  swung  on  through  the  woods,  my  rifle  shouldered, 
my  hound  heeling.  The  air,  pungent  with  pine  and 
redolent  with  cool  autumnal  fragrance,  was  a  resinous 
Madeira.  I  quaffed  it  in  great  draughts,  whereat  it 
went  to  my  head  and  I  whistled  in  bibulous  enjoy- 
ment. A  nearby  bird,  moved  to  rivalry,  bubbled 
mockingly.  I  looked  up  and  beheld  him  on  a  branch, 
watching  me  with  bright,  scornful  eyes.  I  desisted 
in  my  lesser  effort  and  passed  on,  while  he  trilled 
triumph.  The  hound  turned,  regarding  the  songster 
with  malignant  eyes  and  whining  me  sympathy.  We 
pushed  on  toward  the  falls,  now  close  at  hand. 

The  hound  barked  with  canine  enjoyment  as  I 
strode  on  down  the  wooded  bank.  The  subtle  per- 
fume of  sweet  fern  mingled  with  the  virile  odor  of 
the  forest  mold;  my  feet  crunched  deep  in  a  royal 
carpet  of  orange  and  crimson,  spurned  by  the  branches 
that  swayed  above  me.  The  afternoon  sun,  low  in 
the  west,  shredded  narrow  yellow  lanes  of  light 
through  the  leafy  canopy  overhead,  piercing  the 
shadow-murk  that  trailed  where  the  dead  leaves 
drifted,  and  glinting  the  brilliant  glories  of  their 
shrouds.  The  breeze  crooned  in  the  pines;  to  my 
right  the  river  rippled,  murmuring.  A  twig  snapped 
beneath  my  foot  and  a  red  squirrel  left  a  pile  of 
leaves  where  he  had  been  burrowing  and  scampered 


2       THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

up  the  trunk  of  a  balsam,  chattering  angrily  at  me. 
Rip,  being  young,  paused  to  nose  about  a  porcupine 
which  had  suddenly  become  balled  at  our  approach. 
In  his  own  interest  I  was  obliged  to  mildly  kick  the 
hound  from  temptation. 

"  Rip,"  I  observed,  dragging  him  by  his  unwilling 
neck  away  from  the  fretful  dilemma  on  which  he  would 
have  unwittingly  impaled  himself,  "there  are  things 
undreamed  of  in  your  fool  philosophy." 

Turning  sharply  from  the  obscure  trail,  I  passed 
to  the  right  through  a  dense  thicket,  the  roar  of 
falling  water  deepening  as  I  approached.  A  moment 
and  I  emerged  into  a  spot  covered  with  sprawling 
blackberry  briars,  a  few  stunted  pines  bearing  them 
company.  A  few  paces  brought  me  to  the  river's 
brink,  where  I  cast  myself  down  with  a  sigh  of  ap- 
preciation. The  dog  rolled  on  his  back  beside  me, 
his  paws  flung  skyward,  yawning  with  lazy  satis- 
faction. 

Deer  River,  gorged  with  fuss  and  foam,  swirled  and 
eddied  before  me.  Hemmed  within  crowding  banks, 
which  narrowed  as  the  dizzy  brink  grew  nearer,  the 
brawling  waters  rushed  on  to  their  tremendous  leap 
to  liberty.  Over  the  edge  of  a  sheer  wall  of  lime- 
stone, nigh  two  hundred  feet  in  height,  they  tumbled 
with  a  wild  roar  of  exultation  into  a  yawning  chasm 
that  was  fringed  on  either  side  by  giddy  walls  of 
rock.  From  the  boiling  caldron  below  me  the  mists 
wreathed,  floating  up  toward  the  greenery  above, 
incense  to  the  dryads.  Bits  of  forest  debris  spun 
down  the  river,  searching  futilely  for  something  to 
lay  hold  on,  only  to  be  grasped  the  tighter  and 
hurled  onward  to  the  dizzy  plunge. 

Whimsically  I  reached  out  a  hand  and  the  next 
instant  the  hound,  grasped  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck, 


AN  OPPORTUNE  DIAN  3 

swung  whimpering  over  the  abyss.  Shivering  and 
whining,  he  clawed  the  air  and  my  hand  impartially, 
while  I  laughed.  In  a  moment,  touched  by  the  poor 
creature's  terror,  I  hauled  him  back  and  ruefully  re- 
garded my  badly  scratched  hand.  The  brute  crawled 
to  me  and  licked  it,  fawning. 

"Poor  devil!"  said  I,  rubbing  his  head  with  a 
certain  sneaking  sense  of  inferiority,  "  let  us  go." 
So,  regaining  my  rifle,  I  turned  back,  the  dog  fol- 
lowing, sniffing  critically  here  and  there  as  we  pro- 
ceeded. Regaining  the  trail,  I  set  off  down  the  river, 
the  thunder  of  the  cataract  lessening  in  volume  as  I 
strode.  The  shadows  trembled  and  lengthened,  the 
murk  deepening,  for  the  afternoon  was  waning. 

But  I  made  no  haste,  for  I  cared  not  where  night- 
fall found  me.  It  was  my  custom  to  leave  home 
when  the  mood  seized  me,  to  range  the  forest  where 
I  would.  For  weeks,  even  months,  during  the  sum- 
mers I  roamed  as  fancy  willed,  heart  to  heart 
with  what  is  nature's  own.  I  had  my  hound  for 
company,  esteeming  it  far  better  than  that  of  many 
men.  My  hook  and  rifle  provided  my  larder;  a  fire 
and  my  blanket,  with  the  dog  snoring  beside  me, 
were  the  only  nocturnal  essentials.  Occasionally  I 
fell  in  with  a  hunter  or  trapper  with  whom  I  held 
brief  parley  before  we  resumed  our  respective  wander- 
ings. But  mostly  I  was  alone,  though  after  all  not 
alone. 

For  it  is  only  in  the  town  that  man  may  dwell 
alone,  an  unheeded  mite  among  the  many,  a  strug- 
gling atom  adrift  in  a  swelling  sea  of  selfishness.  Let 
him  take  his  seared  soul  and  sick  heart  into  the  balm 
that  heals,  the  benison  of  God's  garden.  The  zephyrs 
that  rustle  its  foliage  will  fan  his  throbbing  temples, 
its  cool  shadows  and  mellowed  sunlight  will  ease  his 


4     THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

burning  eyes.  A  hundred  other  eyes  in  which  lurks 
nothing  of  human  selfishness,  will  shyly  peer  at  him ; 
from  every  branch  a  burst  of  liquid  melody  will 
peal  for  him.  Sweet  springs,  cold  as  the  snows 
of  winter,  will  gush  for  his  good  out  of  the  brown 
earth;  the  flesh  of  the  forest  awaits  to  furnish  him 
sustenance.  In  the  grand,  illimitable  majesty  of  his 
environment  the  petty  slings  and  arrows  will  be 
robbed  of  their  poison  tips.  The  forest's  peace 
enters  into  him  and  a  greater  boon  than  this  there 
cannot  be. 

Ah,  early  days !  in  this  the  winter  of  my  span,  I 
gaze  through  a  blinding  film  out  over  the  bared 
waste  where  once  the  forest  found  its  way  unchecked 
to  my  very  door.  I  moved  sadly  along  the  dried  beds 
of  water  courses  that  in  the  old  days  I  was  hard  put 
to  it  to  ford.  It  was  very  dismal  to  me.  Desolate 
stretches  of  stumpy  pasture  land  and  struggling 
grain  fields  have  succeeded  the  virgin  splendor  of  old ; 
the  stones  wither  in  the  water  courses,  the  sun  glar- 
ing pitilessly  down  into  their  dried  beds,  where  once 
the  dream  shadows  wavered  over  the  black  pools 
that  lay  deep  and  still  outside  the  shadows.  It  is 
the  doom  sounded  by  the  woodman's  axe,  a  knell 
that  had  stark  death  in  it.  It  was  inevitable,  but 
also  pitiful.  My  eyes  smart  as  I  write  and  I  am  not 
ashamed. 

But  on  this  day  no  dirge  dinned  doom,  no  sinister 
chord  clashed  to  drown  a  harmony  that  was  divine. 
Ah  me!  youth  will  not  be  denied.  The  past  a  wist- 
ful memory  untouched  by  gall,  the  pulsing  present, 
the  future  a  brave  dream  of  snapping  sails  in  the 
fair  winds  that  feather  with  spray-drift  the  green 
of  a  boundless  sea !  The  tempests  quiescent  in  the 
womb  of  the  Disillusionment,  the  gray  of  the  Awak- 


AN  OPPORTUNE  DIAN  5 

ening  yet  far  beyond  the  blue.  Verily  God  is  good 
Who  gives  us  the  springtime  of  our  years ! 

So  I  pushed  on,  the  red  in  my  cheek  and  the  light 
in  my  eyes,  on  where  the  hand  of  my  fate  beckoned 
me  and  I  did  not  know. 

As  I  proceeded  I  cast  about  for  a  suitable  spot  in 
which  to  pass  the  night.  I  determined  to  stop  some 
time  before  dusk,  for  I  had  tramped  far  and  was 
somewhat  wearied. 

At  length,  some  distance  below  the  falls,  I  came 
upon  the  spot  I  sought.  It  was  in  a  little  clearing 
hedged  by  tall  spruce  and  poplars.  A  giant  pine  rose 
sombrely  among  them.  The  dead  ashes  of  a  fire  met 
my  eyes.  A  rude  lean-to  of  logs  and  lopped  branches 
stood  there,  beneath  which  one  might  crawl  with  his 
blanket  and  be  at  rest.  The  place  was  clearly  a 
primitive  rendezvous  for  roving  woodsmen. 

Well  content,  I  leaned  my  rifle  against  a  convenient 
cedar,  unslung  my  slender  pack  and  leisurely  set 
about  gathering  brushwood,  which  I  heaped  together, 
ready  to  light.  Whistling  to  the  dog,  I  then  started 
toward  the  river,  which  was  not  far  distant.  Ar- 
rived there,  I  rigged  my  tackle  and  fell  to  angling. 
The  stream  ran  strongly  to  trout  at  this  point  and  I 
soon  had  several  fine  fellows.  I  returned  to  camp 
with  them.  The  red  lances  of  sunlight,  which  quivered 
through  the  embowering  leaves  paled  and  dimmed. 
Twilight,  a  soft  benison,  was  approaching. 

In  pleasant  mood  I  began  preparations  for  supper, 
trolling  a  rollicking  drinking  song  the  while  in  my 
dubious  basso.  Some  moments  passed,  when  I  was 
attracted  by  a  low  growl  from  the  hound. 

I  turned.  His  teeth  were  bared  and  his  short  hair 
bristled,  while  he  trembled  with  snarling  eagerness. 
The  next  instant,  while  I  was  staring  vainly  in  quest 


6     THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

of  the  disturber,  he  sprang  forward,  jaws  gaping. 
They  closed  upon  something  which  he  shook  like  a 
gust-blown  leaf,  a  tiny,  spitting  panther  cub.  The 
little  beast,  a  baby  in  bulk  but  passionately  cour- 
ageous, struggled,  clawed  and  spat.  The  blood 
rimmed  a  vicious  scratch  in  the  hound's  jowl.  With 
a  growl  of  rage  he  dashed  the  body  of  the  malignant 
infant  to  the  ground,  throttling  it. 

Seizing  a  heavy  fagot  from  my  pile  of  firewood,  I 
rushed  toward  the  hound  to  persuade  him  to  let  go, 
for  I  feared  the  mother  was  not  far  away.  Nor  was 
she,  for  in  that  instant  a  horrible  scream  over  my 
head  froze  my  creeping  spine.  I  halted,  searching 
for  her. 

Suddenly  the  bent  branch  of  a  tree  fully  twenty 
feet  away  sprang  upward  like  a  released  spring.  A 
lithe  shape  launched  out  from  it,  swift  and  true  as  a 
dart,  upon  the  back  of  my  hound.  A  furious  melee 
ensued ;  a  hideous  din  of  agonized  yelps,  mad  screams 
and  hoarse  growls;  the  sight  of  torn  flesh  and  the 
swift,  sickening  smell  of  spurting  blood. 

It  was  over  almost  instantly,  while  I  stood  stupe- 
fied with  the  suddenness  of  it.  The  hound  was  no 
coward,  but  he  was  only  a  pup  after  all,  a  youngster 
of  pitiful  inexperience,  whose  rashness  had  wrung 
from  him  the  supreme  penalty,  his  humble  life.  And 
before  me,  sniffing  at  the  body  of  the  dead  cub,  was 
its  furious  mother. 

My  rifle !  Ah,  fool  that  I  had  been,  it  lay  far  from 
my  hand,  near  my  pile  of  firewood.  I  turned  stealth- 
ily toward  it.  The  creature  raised  her  head,  snarling, 
and  crouched,  eyeing  me  with  a  glance  of  flame,  tail 
thudding  the  dead  leaves. 

The  was  no  time  for  the  gun.  I  reached  mechan- 
ically for  my  knife.  My  eyes  fell  upon  the  mangled 


AN  OPPORTUNE  DIAN  7 

body  of  the  dog  and  a  murderous  rage  possessed  me 
as  my  fingers  grasped  the  buckhorn  handle.  I  jerked 
the  weapon  from  my  belt  as  the  cat  sprang. 

She  pounced  full  upon  me,  bearing  me  backward. 
One  hand  sought  her  throat,  with  the  other  I  drove 
the  knife  again  and  again  into  her  body.  She  had 
thrice  nine  lives.  A  red  hot  flash  seemed  to  sear  my 
breast  and  shoulder,  my  limbs  burned  and  I  knew 
she  was  tearing  me.  An  awful  pain  traversed  my 
forehead;  my  sight  was  blotted  out  in  a  red  sea  of 
blood.  My  grip  upon  the  knife  handle  relaxed,  my 
arm  falling  to  my  side. 

Then  from  afar,  stealing  through  the  crimson  waves 
that  beat  upon  and  were  overwhelming  me,  there 
came  faintly  to  my  dulled  ears  a  woman's  voice. 

"  Prenez  garde ! "  it  cried.  "  Your  eyes !  Protect 
your  eyes,  monsieur!" 

With  a  last  despairing  effort  I  flung  both  arms  over 
my  face.  As  I  did  so  I  felt  the  flesh  torn  from  my 
right  forearm.  In  that  instant  a  sudden  roar  rang 
in  my  ears.  I  felt  the  fiend  which  had  harrassed  me 
roll  from  me,  screaming  and  thrashing  in  agony,  and, 
with  my  body  bathed  in  a  swift  flame  of  pain,  my 
senses  left  me. 


CHAPTER  II 

With  Samaritans 

I  stirred  uneasily,  midway  between  sleep  and  wak- 
ing. I  stretched  forth  an  arm,  yawning.  A  swift 
pang  seized  it  and  my  yawn  faded  in  a  groaning 
"Damn !"  With  a  distinct  sense  of  ill-usage  I  opened 
my  eyes. 

My  face  flamed.  "  I — I  beg  your  pardon,  miss,"  I 
mumbled  humbly,  "but  did  I  swear  just  now?" 

Sweet  eyes  danced  with  ready  absolution.  "  Ma 
foi !  you  did,  m'sieur."  she  replied,  deliciously  de- 
mure, "  but  you  are  shrived.  It  is  likely  you  will  de- 
sire to  do  so  many  times  again,  but  you  must  not." 

"  It  is  written,"  I  assured  her,  and  ground  my  teeth 
as  a  stinging  pain  quivered  through  my  shoulder.  I 
suddenly  became  conscious  of  bonds  and  awoke  to 
the  fact  that  I  was  bandaged  liberally.  Lifting  my 
uninjured  hand  I  felt  my  forehead,  which  was  throb- 
bing maddeningly.  It  was  swathed,  as  was  my  arm 
and  the  upper  part  of  my  body.  I  sighed  resignedly. 

"These  were  absolutely  necessary  then?"  I  asked, 
sadly  indicating  the  swaddlings. 

"Oui,  monsieur,  and  will  be  for  some  days,"  re- 
sponded the  girl  with  decision.  "I  arrived  just  in 
time,"  she  continued,  grown  suddenly  grave.  "You 
are  much  torn." 

"Faith,  mademoiselle,  I  believe  you!"  I  groaned, 
as  by  an  untoward  movement  the  truth  of  her  words 


WITH  SAMARITANS  9 

was  borne  in  upon  me.  "  Meanwhile,"  I  added,  as  I 
had  recourse  to  sphinx-like  immobility,  "I  beg  to 
humbly  thank  you  for  your  succor  of  an  idiot 
stranger  who  leaves  his  gun  pine-propping  rather 
than  for  panther  fighting.  Also,  I  marvel,  mam'selle, 
at  your  skill  and  courage." 

"  M'sieur,"  she  replied,  ignoring  my  tribute  to  her 
powers,  "you  are  to  be  patient  while  I  prepare  you 
dejeuner."  She  rose  and  departed,  a  lovely  vision, 
kitchenward. 

"I  wonder  where  I  am?"  mused  I,  and  turned  my 
head.  My  eyes  met  the  rough  log  walls  of  a  primitive 
sleeping  room.  The  furnishings  were  scant  but  pos- 
sessed of  a  pleasing  neatness.  Everywhere,  despite 
the  inevitable  severity  of  the  surroundings,  a  woman's 
dainty  touches  had  wrought  a  transformation. 
The  fragrance  of  a  great  bunch  of  fresh  wild-flowers 
in  a  vase  nearby  refreshed  me.  The  walls  were  hung 
with  pretty  decorations  that  showed  a  rare  taste. 
Here  and  there  hung  a  painting,  striking  in  execution 
and  plainly  of  value,  while  odd  trifles,  unquestionably 
from  foreign  parts,  lent  a  certain  picturesqueness 
of  contrast  to  the  rough  log  walls  and  the  simpler 
furnishings  of  the  room. 

The  trilling  of  birds  outside  mingled  with  a  pleas- 
ant tinkle  of  crockery  from  the  kitchen.  A  flood  of 
sunshine  poured  through  the  tiny  window,  the  yellow 
bar  wavering  elusively  just  alongside  my  bed.  I 
thrust  out  my  well  hand  and  let  it  bask  in  the 
glorious  radiance. 

Mademoiselle's  skirts  heralded  her  coming.  With 
their  approaching  swish  I  lay  expectant,  for  I  was 
hungry.  She  entered,  setting  a  tempting  tray  upon 
the  tiny  table.  A  whiff  of  steaming  coffee  and  the  crisp 
aroma  of  buttered  toast  merged  in  a  happy  union. 


io     THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

She  regarded  me  thoughtfully.  "You  would  fare 
better  if  you  sat  up,  I  suppose,"  she  ruminated, 
"  but  it  will  hurt  you,  m'sieur." 

"Death  hath  been  dared  for  the  stomach's  sake," 
I  answered.  "  Witness  your  mouse  traps,"  And  then 
with  much  wriggling  and  wincing,  assisted  sympa- 
thetically by  my  gracious  lady,  who  entrenched  the 
pillows  behind  my  aching  back,  I  prepared  for  the 
onslaught  upon  my  breakfast.  She  set  the  tray  be- 
fore me  on  the  coverlet. 

I  began  while  she  removed  from  me,  gazing  out  of 
the  tiny  window  full  in  the  sunlight,  which  -glorified 
the  gold-brown  radiance  of  her  hair,  deepened  the 
pink  flush  in  the  fragrant  cheek.  I  marked  her  pro- 
file, pure  as  snow,  from  forehead  to  rounded  chin, 
from  the  tip  of  which  a  living  line  of  beauty  curved 
to  her  snowy  throat.  A  straight  silken  eyebrow  was 
visible,  while  the  lashes,  I  could  see,  were  long  and 
curling.  Her  pretty  print  gown,  with  a  tiny  white 
apron  about  her  round  waist,  lent  an  alluring  touch 
of  domesticity  to  her  beautiful,  slim  figure.  Withal, 
she  was  palpably  French ;  divinely  French,  I  mused, 
and  most  divinely  fair.  I  fell  a-dreaming,  speculating 
upon  the  color  of  her  eyes. 

Suddenly  she  turned,  flashing  them  full  upon  me. 
The  sheen  of  a  sleeping  sea  was  in  them,  the  vague 
greenish  shade  that  rests  when  winds  are  sleeping 
and  a  blue  sky  stretches  overhead,  across  which  the 
white  dream-ships  drift  like  sails  at  sea.  Out  of  the 
open  portals  of  her  eyes  a  white  soul  gazed  fear- 
lessly, a  sweet  soul  that  could  not  sin. 

"Monsieur!"  she  cried  with  mock  severity,  "par- 
donnez  moi,  but  why  are  you  not  eating?" 

"  Mine  eyes  are  unruly,  mademoiselle,"  I  answered, 
with  due  humility.  "  They  have  been  devouring  you." 


WITH  GOOD  SAMARITANS  n 

"  Ciel !  but  they  are  cannibals,"  she  answered. 
"  Rest  them,  s'il  vous  plait,  and  devour  your  toast, 
else  it  will  be  dry  and  your  coffee  quite  cold.  In  the 
absence  of  better,  I  may  then  serve  your  unruly 
eyes,  monsieur,  as  dessert." 

"They  could  ask  no  better,"  I  responded,  and 
again  attacked  my  breakfast.  Her  mirthlit  eyes  made 
soft  denial  as  she  shook  her  head.  She  drew  a  chair 
near  me  and  sat  down. 

I  finished  hastily.  "Where  am  I,  mam'selle?"  I 
inquired.  "  How  long  have  I  been  here  and  to  whom 
am  I  indebted  for  this  almost  maternal  solicitude, 
which  I  assure  you  is  appreciated?" 

"  You  are  in  the  cabin  of  Vincent  De  Montefort," 
she  answered,  "a  few  miles  from  the  scene  of  your 
misadventure  of  yesterday.  I  am  his  daughter,  Renee. 
It  is  now  nine  of  the  morning  after,  m'sieur.  When  I 
had  finished  that  horrible  beast  I  started  back  for 
my  father.  I  met  him  coming  up  the  river  bank  in 
search  of  me,  as  it  was  late  and  he  was  worried. 
Together  we  managed  to  get  you  here,  though  you 
are  no  feather,  m'sieur.  My  father  brought  you  on 
his  back  a  good  part  of  the  way  and  he  rubs  it  to- 
day in  consequence.  He  dressed  your  wounds.  You 
were  unconscious  and  we  hardly  expected  you  to  re- 
vive so  soon.  You  have  an  excellent  constitution. 
You  are  blest,  m'sieur." 

"It  has  always  stood  me  in  good  stead,"  I  an- 
swered. "But  mam'selle,  why  has  it  been  decreed 
that  this  incubus  should  be  thrust  upon  you?  It 
will  be  some  weeks,  I  fear,  ere  I  can  make  my 
adieux." 

"  I  beg  you  will  not  speak  so,"  she  replied,  a  note 
of  vexation  in  her  vibrant  voice  with  its  fascinating 
accent.  "  A  hand  to  help,  I  hope,  would  not  be  with- 


12     THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

held  from  my  father  or  myself,  in  like  stress.  The 
world  has  much  of  helplessness,  m'sieur.  Its  creatures 
should  help  each  other." 

A  firm  step  sounded  in  the  kitchen.  "It  is  mon 
pere,"  she  said,  and  rose. 

A  pair  of  keen  black  eyes  peered  at  me  from  under 
white  bushy  brows.  Luxuriant  hair  and  a  beard  like 
snow,  with  handsome  features,  of  a  patrician  type,  M. 
De  Montefort  looked  superior  to  his  present  primi- 
tive surroundings.  His  fine  forehead  and  finely 
moulded  head  told  of  an  intellect  of  rare  power.  He 
was  tall  and  finely  made  and  the  gentleman  was  the 
more  evident  for  the  rough  garb  he  wore. 

He  greeted  me  with  true  Gallic  courtesy.  "  Bien  ! 
you  once  more  realize  then,"  he  said  affably,  taking 
my  well  hand  in  his  own.  "  Though  I  doubt  if  the 
awakening  is  wholly  pleasing  to  you,  Monsieur " 

"Warburton,"  I  supplied,  "Gilbert  Warburton,  of 
Sackets  Harbor.  You  have  doubtless  heard  of  the 
hamlet,  whose  fame  is  spreading  just  now,  the  times 
being  troublous.  As  for  my  waking,  I  can  assure  you 
that  it  was  wholly  pleasant,  as  my  eyes  first  fell  upon 
your  daughter,  who  has  ministered  unto  me  and  does 
yet  minister.  So  completely  has  she  taken  my 
thoughts  from  my  somewhat  dishevelled  self,  that 
although  she  has  just  favored  me  with  the  names  of 
those  to  whom  I  am  so  deeply  indebted,  I  own  I 
quite  forgot  to  mention  my  own.  If,  under  such  in- 
comparable nursing,  I  do  not  advance,  I  shall  indeed 
be  ungrateful." 

"It  is  my  wish,"  he  returned  courteously,  "that 
you  may  speedily  recover  your  health  and  strength. 
That  my  daughter  will  assist  you  in  the  process," 
with  an  affectionate  glance  at  the  girl,  "  I  am  as  con- 
fident as  yourself.  I,  too,  have  suffered,  and  she  has 


WITH  SAMARITANS  13 

brought  me  back  to  modest  usefulness  and  a  raven- 
ous appetite." 

We  talked  a  while  on  various  matters,  chiefly  of 
the  imminence  of  trouble  between  the  struggling 
young  nation  and  its  powerful  parent.  I  soon  per- 
ceived that,  like  so  many  of  his  countrymen  at  the 
time,  his  sympathies  were  all  with  the  infant. 

"She  is  no  doting  mother,  this  England,"  he  said 
with  an  eloquent  French  shrug.  "  She  does  not  cod- 
dle, ah,  jamais  !  Her  babes  and  sucklings  must  needs 
toddle  forth  into  the  market  place,  when  hardly  from 
the  breast,  for  pennies  for  her  palm,  and  when  the 
gleamings  are  small  castigation  is  severe.  We  of 
France  know  her,  yes,  but  not  to  love  her.  I  do 
not  doubt,  m'sieur,  that  if  the  pinch  comes  you  may 
command  the  swords  of  other  Lafayettes." 

"This  infant  has  ceased  to  mewl,  m'sieur,"  I  re- 
joined. "  He  has  become  a  sturdy  stripling,  some- 
what lacking  in  filial  feeling  perhaps,  but  then,  ten- 
derness may  be  throttled  by  tyranny.  If  it  comes  to 
it,  I  fear  me  that  matricide  may  be  attempted  by  us 
with  ghastly  cheerfulness.  But  there  will  be  need  of 
many  swords." 

The  girl  listened  with  attention,  her  eyes  sparkling 
with  sympathy.  It  was  natural,  I  thought,  that  she 
should  favor  us.  The  divine  heart  of  woman  goes 
ever  out  to  the  weak  and  struggling.  Also,  was 
she  not  her  father's  daughter? 

After  a  little  he  left  us  with  a  polite  apology,  to 
look  at  some  traps  he  had  set  in  the  forest.  "It 
is  small  game  I  am  after,"  he  said  smiling,  "for  their 
skins,  which  I  dispose  of  at  Albany.  It  is  one  of  a 
multitude  of  pursuits  which  serve  to  pass  the  time 
here,"  he  added,  with  somewhat  bitter  sarcasm.  "  At 
all  events,  they  keep  one  from  too  much  thinking." 


i4    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

With  an  affectionate  glance  at  his  daughter  he  left 
the  house.  She  stood  by  the  window  when  he  had 
gone,  gazing  out  into  the  sunshine  with  far-away 
eyes.  By  and  by  a  tremulous  sigh  escaped  her,  and  I 
saw  the  sweet  eyes  dim  with  tears.  My  own  stung 
at  the  sight,  for  they  were  ever  unruly  when  the 
brine  welled  into  those  of  others.  I  scorned  it  as  a 
weakness  then,  but  the  years  have  taught  me  bet- 
ter. God  has  set  ideals  for  men,  and  if  a  man  would 
approach  as  close  to  them  as  infinite  effort  lies,  there 
must  beat  in  his  breast  something  of  the  heart  of  a 
woman.  Without  it,  mere  mentality,  scourged  by 
unrecking  ambition,  may  become  monstrous.  Christ 
wept  that  over  Jerusalem  whose  pharisaical  priests, 
fearful  for  their  crumbling  sovereignty,  a  little  later 
destroyed  him. 

She  turned  presently,  with  a  brave  throwing  off  of 
the  cloud  which  had  oppressed  her.  "Monsieur,  I 
will  read  to  you,"  she  said,  smiling  brightly.  "We 
brought  some  books  from  France.  Though,"  she 
added,  flushing  slightly  with  the  afterthought,  "we 
have  but  little  in  English." 

"Que  fait  il?"  asked  I,  and  laughed  at  her  little 
start  of  astonishment.  "  I  had  the  advantage  of  a 
tutor,  mam'selle,"  I  explained,  "who  had  explored 
the  nooks  and  crannies  of  your  fascinating  tongue.  I 
learned  it  better  than  any  other  portion  of  the  eru- 
dition with  which  he  sought,  though  with  head  shak- 
ings, to  cram  me." 

She  made  selection  of  a  volume;  what,  I  scarcely 
heeded.  I  but  realized  with  indolent  appreciation 
that  it  was  a  dreamy  old  work  of  exquisite  romance, 
a  poetic  tale  that  fell  in  music  from  a  pair  of  equally 
exquisite  lips.  I  turned  my  head  toward  the  low 
rocker  in  which  she  was  sitting,  gazing  into  her  lovely 


WITH  SAMARITANS  15 

face.  Of  this  she  was  unconscious,  being  engrossed 
in  the  story.  Content  to  watch  her,  the  import  of 
the  tale  was  but  of  secondary  importance,  and  my 
mind,  busying  itself  with  the  lady,  did  but  indiffer- 
ently make  note  of  the  lyric. 

Long  I  gazed,  till  my  eyelids  in  sheer  weariness 
closed.  I  struggled  lazily  for  a  moment  to  raise 
them,  out  they  remained  veiled,  while  a  pleasant 
feeling  of  lassitude  stole  over  me.  It  being  impolite, 
I  fought  feebly  with  the  feeling,  but  finally  relaxed, 
giving  myself  up  to  the  benign  influence.  The  clear 
tones  of  the  girl's  voice  tinkled  far  away,  like  sweet 
bells.  The  veil  of  the  dusk  settled  down,  the  stars 
studded  the  black  night  sky,  and  under  a  giant  tree, 
with  a  smouldering  fire  near  me,  I  lay,  the  soft  wind 
whirring  the  leaves  over  my  outstretched  body,  my 
dog  dozing  beside  me,  while  I  drifted  to  sleep  and 
dreams. 


CHAPTER  III 
Renee 

The  days  sped  and  gradually  brought  back  to  me 
my  impaired  strength.  The  monotony  was  rendered 
pleasant  by  the  constant  attendance  of  my  charming 
nurse,  who  gave  me  what  time  she  could  spare.  Mean- 
while the  breeze  that  blew  in  at  the  little  window 
grew  cooler,  bearing  the  autumnal  benison  of  the 
passing  year.  I  chafed  for  I  was  anxious  to  again 
look  upon  the  forest. 

M.  De  Montefort  was  no  mean  physician  and  my 
wounds  healed  rapidly.  That  I  would  be  scarred  for 
life,  however,  was  already  certain.  The  wound  in 
my  forehead  was  not  deep  and  would  not  show  promi- 
nently, but  my  body  had  borne  the  brunt  and  would 
bear  witness  to  it. 

It  came  that  in  a  few  more  days,  albeit  with  some 
groans  I  was  able  to  hobble  one  morning  to  the 
little  doorway  of  the  cabin  to  gaze  again  upon 
the  majestic  sweep  and  beauty  of  the  forest  which 
enclosed  on  all  sides  the  small  clearing  in  which  the 
house  was  built.  From  the  right  there  came  to  me 
the  distant  music  of  the  river.  A  light  breeze  whis- 
pered in  the  pines.  Everywhere  was  a  regal  carpet 
of  multi-hued  leaves,  constantly  drifting  down  from 
the  limbs  that  were  still  ablaze  with  color.  I  gazed 
up  at  the  branches,  my  throat  contracting  and  with 
wet  eyes.  A  fierce  feeling  of  thankfulness  filled  me, 


RENEE  17 

of  gratitude  that  I  once  more  gazed  upon  this  beauty 
and  heard  the  soft  murmurings  of  Nature,  God's 
handmaiden,  instead  of  lying  under  one  of  those  very 
branches,  gazing  up  blankly  with  dead  unseeing  eyes, 
the  melodies  of  birds  and  the  wistful  sighing  of  the 
breeze  sounding  in  vain  for  my  deaf,  unheeding  ears. 

A  light  step  and  she  stood  beside  me,  looking 
out  with  me  at  the  glory  of  the  dying  year.  An 
impudent  sunbeam  darted  swiftly  into  her  sweet 
eyes,  dazzling  them  and  shifting  to  her  hair,  where  it 
rioted  with  fiery  zeal.  A  vagrant  whiff  of  the  soft 
wind  whisked  by  us,  laden  with  woodsy  smells  and 
with  its  necromancy  stirring  that  indefinable  penned 
something  that  beats  and  throbs,  uplifting  where 
Nature  is,  but  lies  dormant  within  the  city's  walls. 
Overhead  a  few  white  clouds  drifted.  Near  us  a  soli- 
tary robin  twittered,  the  summer  still  bubbling  in 
his  foolish  throat.  As  if  in  mockery  there  came  at 
the  moment  the  harsh  answering  clamor  of  a  flock  of 
geese,  high  up,  winging  their  way  to  the  southward. 

I  surveyed  the  robin  with  concern.  "Go  and  do 
thou  likewise,"  I  advised  him  gravely.  He  shot  a 
wicked  glance  at  me,  and,  leaving  his  limb,  fluttered 
to  the  ground  and  went  to  grubbing. 

The  girl  had  been  watching  the  squawking  flock 
disappear  over  the  trees.  She  shivered  a  little. 

"  It  is  pitiful,"  she  said,  a  little  break  in  her  voice, 
"  this  dying  each  year  of  the  summer,  m'sieur.  The 
leaves  fall  and  the  trees  are  bare  and  the  snow  is 
deep  and  cold.  And  when  the  wind  is  always  wailing, 
ciel !  it  is  like  a  requiem  for  the  dead.  And  the  silence 
so  tomb-like,  in  the  long  nights,  with  only  the  howls 
of  the  wild  beasts  to  break  it!  No  one  comes;  we 
have  not  even  the  birds ;  only  my  father  and  I,  alone ! 
Oh,  it  is  so  horribly  lonely  in  the  winter,  m'sieur!" 


1 8    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

Her  eyes  were  wet,  there  was  a  note  of  rebellion  in 
her  voice.  A  great  wave  of  pity  rose  within  me.  In  a 
flash  I  comprehended  what  the  dreary  monotone  of 
her  life  must  be  with  her  ardent  spirit  and  fresh  youth. 

"Yes,  mademoiselle,"  I  answered  her  gently,  "but 
after  all,  the  summer  comes  again  and  brings  the 
birds  with  it.  See,  even  the  one  just  gone  has  left  one 
fool  behind,"  and  I  indicated  the  solitary  robin,  who, 
gorged  with  grubs,  was  ruffling  his  feathers  and 
watching  me  from  his  limb  with  malice  in  his  beady 
eyes. 

"Who,  Toti?"  she  rejoined  with  surprise.  "Why, 
m'sieur,  Toti  is  no  fool.  Come  here,  Toti!"  she  de- 
manded, and  the  bird  fluttered  to  her  shoulder. 

"  Toti,"  she  assured  me  with  severity,  "  is  far  from 
a  fool.  Au  contraire,  he  knows  more  than  many 
men." 

"Sans  doute,"  I  murmured,  and  bowed  with  due 
humility.  The  wretched  bird  scolded  at  me,  his  head 
held  impertinently  to  one  side 

"I  picked  Toti  from  the  ground  one  day  when  he  was 
only  a  baby,"  she  explained,  taking  the  complacent 
bird  in  her  hand  and  stroking  him.  "His  wing  was 
broken.  I  mended  him,  m'sieur,  though  he  will  never 
fly  very  much.  Poor  baby,  he  couldn't  go  south  if  he 
wanted  to,  along  with  those  crazy  geese,  though  he 
wouldn't  leave  his  mamma  if  he  could;  would  he, 
Toti?"  and  she  fell  to  lavishing  caresses  upon  the 
miserable  bird.  I  glowered  at  him,  envying  him 
his  feathers. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  suggested,  with  a  last  glance  of 
contempt  at  the  lucky  Toti,  who  returned  the  look 
with  one  which  I  could  have  sworn  evidenced  a  leer- 
ing triumph,  "if  you  have  the  time  let  us  stroll 
through  the  forest  a  little  way.  Only  a  few  days 


RENEE  19 

remain  to  us  of  this  delightful  weather.  Behold,  the 
snows  come  speedily,  mam'selle."  The  bird,  released, 
fluttered  back  to  his  limb. 

"  Tres  bien,  I  will  go,  m'sieur,"  she  assented,  with  a 
wistful  glance  toward  the  gorgeous  foliage.  "  But 
you,  are  you  strong  enough  ?  You  are  yet  quite  lame 
in  your  legs;  is  it  not  so?" 

I  smothered  a  smile  at  the  quaintness  of  her  speech, 
rendered  the  richer  by  the  most  delicious  of  accents. 

"  True,  they  are  somewhat  stiffened,"  I  assured  her 
soberly.  "  My  joints  will  doubtless  creak  unpleasantly, 
but  the  oil  of  a  little  exercise  they  must  have.  With 
you  beside  me  I  shall  soon  be  skipping  like  the  young 
hills." 

"  Monsieur,  you  grow  extravagant,"  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  little  frown  that  brought  to  me  the  wish  to 
offend  again.  "  But  wait  a  moment,"  and  she  left 
me  on  the  threshold,  reappearing  shortly  with  a 
wheaten  loaf.  "  You  shall  presently  see,"  she  promised, 
reading  the  question  in  my  eyes.  "Sir,  attend  me, 
for  we  now  set  forth." 

We  left  the  cottage,  a  brave  little  dot  in  the  wil- 
derness, and  in  a  moment  were  out  of  the  little  clear- 
ing and  in  the  depths  of  the  woods.  We  followed  a 
well  defined  footpath,  evidently  used  considerably  by 
the  Frenchman  and  his  daughter.  From  the  increas- 
ing murmur  of  water  I  gathered  that  we  were  ap- 
proaching the  river.  We  had  our  guns,  for  the  north- 
land  was  young  then  and  one  could  not  tell  at  what 
moment  a  weapon  might  be  needed.  The  path  ran 
tortuously,  avoiding  large  obstacles.  Evidently  for 
his  daughter's  convenience  M.  De  Montefort  had  been 
at  pains  to  create  an  easy  progress,  though  she  was 
the  last  person  in  the  world  to  be  finicky  about  a 
few  briars  or  fallen  tree  trunks. 


20     THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

She  preceded  me,  rather  slowly,  on  account  of  my 
injuries,  while  I  hobbled  after  her,  ludicrously  enough 
I  have  no  doubt.  She  was  a  rare  young  Dian, 
moving  before  me  with  grace  and  a  fine  free  power,  her 
slender  body  erect  as  a  dart,  yet  softened  with  fair 
contours.  Her  short  trim  skirt  just  cleared  an  ankle, 
whose  beauty  was  not  obscured  by  the  low,  service- 
able shoes  she  wore.  Her  rifle  rested  easily  and  cor- 
rectly in  the  hollow  of  her  arm,  muzzle  downward. 
As  we  proceeded  she  maintained  a  bantering  fire  of 
conversation  with  me.  I  had  bewildering  glimpses 
of  a  perfect  half  profile,  the  cheek  flushed  pink  with 
the  tang,  like  champagne,  in  the  air;  a  clear  eye, 
blue-green  like  the  sea,  laughing  its  challenge;  the 
tinkle  of  tones  like  sweet  bells.  It  was  Elysium.  I 
was  content  to  hobble. 

After  a  time  we  reached  a  point  where  the  path 
turned  sharply.  Some  distance  more  and  the  voice 
of  the  water,  hitherto  pleasantly  discursive,  had  be- 
come a  truculent  roar.  Now  we  emerged  into  a 
small  clearing,  which  had  been  burned  over  at  some 
previous  time,  lapping  a  precipitous  bank  which 
sheered  abruptly  to  the  river  thirty  feet  below.  The 
brawling  little  stream  here  disported  itself  into  a  web 
of  miniature  cascades,  whirling  eddies  and  foaming 
rapids,  the  water  swirling  madly  hither  and  yon  in 
its  rock-strewn  bed.  Yet  for  all  its  fertile  rush  and 
whirl,  there  lay  along  the  edges  of  the  stream — 
hemmed  by  outer  guards  of  black  sullen  rocks — 
great  pulseless  pools,  deep  and  still,  where  the 
shadows  brooded  and  a  strange  peace  rested,  un- 
mindful of  the  puny  clamor  of  the  outer  shallows. 

The  girl  and  I  stood  quietly  gazing  at  the  little 
stream  with  its  ridiculous  violence.  There  was  some- 
thing grotesquely  impotent  about  it;  one  felt  a  vague 


RENEE  21 

pity  at  its  pigmy  strivings  to  burst  its  narrow  bonds. 
It  growled  like  a  puppy,  it  snapped  and  snarled, 
dashing  itself  vainly  against  the  rocky  banks;  then 
foiled  but  persevering  still,  rushing  on  with  angry 
muttering  to  find  another  point  of  assault.  And  on 
either  side  of  the  narrow  gorge,  the  great  grim  forest, 
majestic  and  illimitable,  calmly  contemptous,  seemed 
to  press  forward  the  closer,  as  if  to  crush  and  throttle 
the  slender  thread  of  water  that  so  daringly  divided 
it  against  its  mighty  self.  The  fancy  was  a  strange 
one.  I  laughed. 

The  witch  beside  me  had  been  watching  me.  She 
read  my  thought  upon  the  tablet  of  my  mutilated 
face. 

"Ah,  yes,  m'sieur,  you  laugh,"  she  said,  with  a 
strange  little  smile.  "Poor  little  stream  amuses 
you,  does  it  not,  with  its  spittings  and  snarlings 
that  come  to  nothing,  while  the  forest  laughs  ?  But 
m'sieur,  have  you  forgotten  the  spring  when  the  snows 
melt  and  the  great  rains  soak  and  drench  ?  Ah,  it  is 
then  the  turn  of  the  little  stream !  I  have  seen," 
she  continued, — her  voice  grown  solemn,  her  eyes  hold- 
ing my  own, — "  a  great  mass  of  yellow  water  rolling 
by  the  spot  on  which  we  stand,  nearly  reaching  the 
edge  of  this  very  bank,  which  crumbled  and  fell  into 
it  in  great  clods.  It  does  not  then  growl  and  grum- 
ble, the  little  stream.  No,  it  roars  and  rumbles  like 
the  thunder.  It  is  cruel,  too,  for  it  remembers  how 
the  forest  laughed.  Ma  foi !  the  great  proud  trees 
I  have  seen,  drowned  and  dead,  dashed  to  pieces  by 
the  little  stream.  Yes,  and  the  bodies  of  men,  too, 
beaten  and  battered;  men  who  would  wade  it  as  it 
is  now  and  laugh  at  it,  as  you  did  just  now,  m'sieur. 
For  the  little  stream  remembers  and  does  not  forget 
or  forgive.  No,  it  is  a  demon,  a  great,  monstrous 


22  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

demon,  tearing  at  the  vitals  of  the  trees  that  mocked 
it,  sucking  the  life  blood  from  the  crumbling  earth. 
To  destroy,  only  to  destroy  and  to  roar  as  the  lion 
roars  with  the  joy  of  it.  Why  should  we  laugh, 
monsieur?  Have  you  not  also  seen?" 

I  surveyed  her  with  a  certain  wonder.  Her  words 
and  the  dramatic  manner  accompanying  them  had 
told,  and  in  a  flash  I  had  been  made  to  perceive 
the  sinister  spirit  animating  the  boisterous  waters 
even  as  she  saw  it.  The  fuss  and  foam  below  me 
was  suddenly  pregnant  with  poignant  possibilities. 
I  seemed  to  see  in  it  the  horrible,  shapeless  Thing, 
the  sleeping  Terror  that  her  graphic  speech  had  con- 
jured. But  as  I  sobered  her  sudden  laughter  saluted 
my  ears.  Having  spelled  me  serious,  it  was  her 
pleasure  to  become  amused  at  the  result. 

"  Do  not  cry,  M'sieur  Warburton,"  she  mocked.  "  It 
is  not  yet  spring  nor  are  you  afloat.  When  it  shall 
be  spring,  just  do  not  go  near  the  water,  that  is  all. 
But  now  you  must  hide  yourself,  for  I  promised  you 
a  surprise,"  and  she  dragged  me,  feeling  like  a  fool 
and  doubtless  looking  it,  toward  the  undergrowth. 

Leaving  me  behind  a  thicket  which  effectually 
screened  me  without  cutting  off  my  view  of  whatever 
it  was  that  was  coming,  Renee  moved  away  from  me 
until  she  stood  in  the  center  of  the  clearing.  She 
uttered  a  peculiar  call,  repeating  it  in  a  moment.  In 
response  there  came  the  sound  of  a  great  whirring 
and  flapping,  approaching  swiftly.  Then,  before  my 
astonished  eyes,  there  occurred  a  total  eclipse  of 
Renee.  She  was  the  unseen  center  of  a  great  white 
cloud,  violently  agitated,  which  billowed  about  her, 
besetting  her  with  soft  cries,  the  air  throbbing  with 
the  shudder  of  beating  wings.  I  had  often  seen  giant 
flocks  of  wild  pigeons  in  my  wanderings  through  the 


RENEE  23 

woods,  flocks  that  darkened  the  skies  and  brought 
the  twilight  at  noonday.  But  here  was  something 
new,  a  great  swarm  of  the  shy  birds  which  came 
obedient  to  the  call  of  this  strange  girl  to  be  fed  and 
caressed.  For,  as  the  flock  drifted  apart  a  little,  I 
saw  them  perched  upon  her  shoulders,  clinging  to  her 
gown,  and  one  actually  adhering  with  beak  and  tal- 
ons to  her  hair,  from  which  point  of  vantage  she 
promptly  removed  him,  transferring  him  to  her 
shoulder. 

Meanwhile  the  loaf  she  had  brought  was  swiftly 
disappearing  in  the  feathered  vortex.  When  it  was 
quite  gone  there  came  a  sudden  lifting  of  the  cloud 
and  a  swift  rush  forestward.  I  came  out  from  my 
shelter.  The  last  of  the  pigeons,  which  was  picking 
daintily  at  its  plumage,  being  startled  at  my  ap- 
proach, rose  from  its  perch  on  Renee's  shoulder  and 
soared  after  its  mates.  She  stood  alone,  smiling  at 
the  mute  wonder  in  my  eyes. 

"It  is  not  difficult,  m'sieur,"  she  said,  " though, 
of  course,  it  took  much  patience  at  the  first.  They 
must  be  made  to  know  that  you  will  not  hurt  them 
because  you  love  them.  It  took  three  years  before  I 
could  approach  them.  I  could  only  strew  the  crumbs 
and  leave  them,  for  they  distrusted  me.  But  now,  as 
you  see,  it  is  different  and  they  come  to  me.  They 
will  soon  be  gone  though,  where  there  is  no  winter," 
she  continued,  with  a  note  of  sadness  in  her  voice. 
"But  they  will  return  to  me  with  the  spring,  for 
they  have  never  failed  me." 

"  Mademoiselle,  it  is  wonderful,"  I  commented  with 
sincerity.  "  I  have  never  heard  or  seen  the  like  of  it. 
My  past  experience  has  been  that  these  pigeons  shun 
humanity  because  of  the  slaughter  inflicted  of  late 
years  by  so  many  men." 


24  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"Men!"  cried  the  girl,  with  flashing  eyes.  "They 
are  not  men,  they  are  murderers !  Ah,  is  it  not 
wanton?  Poor  white  innocents,  harming  no  one; 
desirous  only  of  the  right  to  the  air  and  the  woods ; 
humble  and  gentle  beyond  all  words !  It  makes  me 
fair  to  burst,  monsieur,  with  anger  because  of  the  kill- 
ing of  these  poor  birds,  when  thousands  are  mur- 
dered for  what  these  beasts  of  men  call  sport !  If 
one  of  them  should  fire  into  my  flock — mark  you  my 
friend — le  bon  Dieu  forgive  me,  I  should  shoot  him; 
yes,  with  a  good  heart ! " 

This  was  spirited,  besides  revealing  another  phase 
of  her  many  sided  character.  The  sentiment  was 
wicked— perhaps— yet  charmingly  so,  and  I  frankly 
exulted  in  it,  for  I  shared  her  honest  indignation  at 
the  spirit  of  wholesale  destruction  which  prevailed  at 
the  time  toward  these  inoffensive  birds.  My  own 
right  arm  had  once  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  felling  a 
miscreant  whom  I  found  ready  to  begin  the  unique 
enjoyment  that  obtained  in  those  days  of  using  a 
small  piece  of  ordnance  to  cannonade  an  immense 
flock  of  the  birds  passing  overhead.  I  endorsed  what 
my  fiery  lady  had  said  on  the  subject  and  so  stated. 

"We  must  return,  for  it  is  nearly  time  for  me  to 
prepare  the  dinner,"  she  said  at  length,  and,  with  a 
last  glance  at  the  tumbling  river,  we  turned  toward 
the  path. 

At  that  very  moment  a  shriek  rang  out  close  at 
hand— a  yell  of  mortal  agony.  We  whirled,  and  as 
we  did  so  I  saw  a  few  rods  down  the  river  a  brown 
form  shoot  from  the  bank  out  into  the  air,  as  if  flung 
by  some  mighty  force,  and  fall  into  the  water  several 
feet  out  from  the  shore,  the  surface  crimsoning  as  the 
body  sank  from  sight.  My  swift  glimpse  had  marked 
the  garb  and  pain-contorted  features  of  an  Indian. 


RENEE  25 

Renee  had  disappeared.  As  I  stood  watching  the 
spot  where  the  body  had  gone  down  I  heard  her  cry 
in  keenest  distress,  "Mon  perc !  Ah,  mon  pere!" 

Grasping  my  gun  I  hobbled  as  fast  as  my  lamed 
legs  would  let  me  in  the  direction  of  her  voice. 


CHAPTER  IV 

John  Godfrey 

I  hurried  across  the  clearing  and  plunged  into  the 
woods,  heading  down  stream.  A  few  paces  and  I  had 
come  to  a  spot  where  the  growth  was  less  dense.  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  river  hard  by  through  the 
trees.  The  sunlight  struggled  through  the  thick 
boughs  over  me. 

A  sob  sounded  nearby.  Turning,  I  advanced  a  few 
steps  and  beheld  Renee  in  tears.  She  sat  upon  the 
ground,  bending  over  her  father,  who  lay  with  his 
head  in  her  lap.  She  was  wildly  chafing  his  hands 
and  imploring  him  to  speak  to  her.  Her  brave  self- 
possession  all  gone,  distraught  with  fears  for  her 
loved  parent,  she  crouched  there,  crying  pitifully. 

I  hurried  up,  kneeling  beside  them.  De  Montefort 
was  unconscious  and  Renee  hardly  noticed  me.  I 
felt  for  the  old  Frenchman's  heart  and  was  reassured, 
for  it  was  beating  strongly.  The  blood  flowed  slight- 
ly from  a  scalp  wound,  Renee  trying  to  wipe  it  away 
with  her  tiny  handkerchief.  A  moment's  examina- 
tion showed  me  that  my  benefactor  was  only  stunned. 
The  blow  had  been  a  glancing  one,  wounding  him 
on  the  side  of  the  head,  having  apparently  been  de- 
flected by  some  means. 

"Do  not  agitate  yourself,  Renee,"  I  implored,  lay- 
ing my  hand  gently  on  her  trembling  arm.  "Your 
father  is  not  seriously  hurt."  In  the  influence  of  the 


JOHN  GODFREY  27 

moment  I  had  lost  sight  of  the  conventions,  but  she 
seemed  not  aware  of  my  liberty  in  addressing  her  by 
her  Christian  name,  or,  for  that  matter,  of  my  pres- 
ence. But  even  as  I  spoke  the  Frenchman's  eyelids 
fluttered  and  Renee  uttered  a  joyful  cry  as  he  looked  at 
her,  somewhat  bewildered  but  evidently  not  seriously 
harmed,  as  the  color  came  slowly  back  to  his  face. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  exclaimed  De  Montefort,  struggling 
to  a  sitting  position  and  feeling  gingerly  of  his  doubt- 
less aching  head.  "  What  became  of  him  ?"  His  coat 
sleeve  slipped  back  as  he  raised  his  arm  and  I  noticed 
an  ugly,  swelling  bruise  just  above  the  wrist. 

"Of  whom,  father?"  inquired  Renee,  bending  over 
him  with  tender  solicitude. 

"The  man  who  tried  to  kill  me!"  answered  De 
Montefort,  his  eye  kindling  and  his  fist  clenching. 
"  He  was  an  Indian,  monsieur.  I  heard  a  stir  behind 
me.  I  was  returning  from  the  traps,  as  you  see," 
indicating  some  of  the  spoils  near  by,  "  when  I  heard 
the  snap  of  a  twig  and  turned  just  in  time  to  see  a 
club  in  the  hands  of  that  damnable  redskin.  He 
swung  for  my  head.  I  threw  up  my  arm,"  feeling 
ruefully  of  the  member,  "  and  broke  the  force  of  the 
blow  and  almost  the  arm  as  well,"  with  a  grimace. 
"Still,  I  regret  not  the  arm,  mes  enfants,  for  it  served 
me  well  in  preserving  my  skull  intact.  But  the  In- 
dian, where  is  he?" 

"  In  the  river,  m'sieur,"  I  answered,  and  told  them 
what  I  had  seen.  "  When  your  daughter  heard  your 
cry,"  I  explained  to  De  Montefort,  "she  waited  for 
nothing,  but  hurried  to  you." 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "That  was  not  father's 
voice,"  she  said.  "I  did  not  take  the  voice  for  his. 
I  seemed  to  divine  that  something  was  wrong,  so  I 
left  you,  mon  ami,"  with  a  mischievous  glance  at  me. 


28    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"Then  it  was  the  Indian  who  cried  out,"  I  ex- 
claimed. "  Why,  of  course,  his  face  showed  he  had 
reason  for  it  when  he  hit  the  water.  And  then,  he 
was  bleeding.  But  who  killed  the  Indian?"  I  asked 
in  perplexity. 

"I  did!"  growled  a  bass  voice  in  reply,  close  to  us. 
We  three  started,  and,  looking  up,  beheld  standing 
before  us  a  remarkable  figure. 

It  was  that  of  a  man  of  great  size.  De  Montefort 
and  myself  were  tall  men,  verging  close  upon  six 
feet  and  strongly  made,  but  he  dwarfed  us  as  the  oak 
does  the  dogwood.  His  height  was  fully  four  inches 
over  our  own.  His  shoulders  were  broad  and  power- 
ful and  his  huge  hands,  gnarled  and  knotted  with 
muscle,  like  the  wrists  above,  indicated  a  terrible 
strength.  Surpassing  might  was  apparent  in  every 
line  of  the  huge  frame,  and  not  strength  alone,  but 
the  suggestion  of  that  lithe,  tigerish  suppleness  with- 
out which  mere  brute  strength  is  shorn,  like  Samson 
in  the  hands  of  Delilah,  of  half  its  vigor.  The 
stranger  wore  the  rude  garb  of  an  ordinary  hunter, 
with  rough  leather  leggings.  His  cap  of  skins  was 
pushed  back  on  his  head,  exposing  a  thick  shock  of 
black  hair  shading  a  high  forehead.  A  heavy  black 
beard  and  luxuriant  mustachios  covered  the  lower 
portion  of  the  dark,  tanned  face.  A  pair  of  piercing 
black  eyes  stared  at  us  somewhat  quizzically,  as  if 
the  effect  upon  us  of  his  sudden  appearance  had 
amused  him.  He  stood  like  a  Titan,  huge  feet  plant- 
ed with  Jovian  firmness  in  the  forest  mould,  a  splen- 
did figure  in  uncouth  coverings,  mutely  regarding 
us.  There  was  something  of  latent  force  in  the  man 
which  was  terrifying.  It  told  of  a  sleeping  giant 
whom  it  would  mean  destruction  to  arouse. 

The  old  Frenchman  arose  to  the  occasion.     "Sir 


JOHN  GODFREY  29 

whoever  you  are,  I  am  glad  that  you  did  so  kill 
him,"  he  said  with  a  fine  courtesy.  "  Pray  seat  your- 
self, m'sieur,  for  it  is  likely  that  you  are  fatigued 
after  the  killing.  I  owe  you  acknowledgements  for 
what  my  daughter  is  pleased  to  consider  my  valuable 
life." 

The  giant  bowed  and  seated  himself  near  by 
upon  a  convenient  log.  Pie  began  nonchalantly  to 
plunge  the  blade  of  a  hunting  knife  into  the  black 
soil  and  the  manner  of  the  redskin's  death  was 
explained. 

He  finished  and  thrust  the  knife  into  his  belt,  which 
we  noticed  contained  another  as  well.  "  This,"  he 
explained,  indicating  the  blade  he  had  just  cleansed, 
"  was  the  Indian's.  He  stabbed  himself  with  it." 

He  smiled  slightly  at  our  mystified  expressions 
and  continued.  "I  got  here  just  as  our  red  friend 
was  bringing  his  cudgel  down  on  your  head,"  he  said 
addressing  the  Frenchman.  ' '  I  saw  you  partially  ward 
off  the  blow,  then  fall.  He  would  have  finished  you, 
but  the  coppery  rascal  then  caught  sight  of  me.  I 
may  say  that  he  knew  something  of  me,  as  I  was 
once  in  his  territory,  to  the  cost  of  some  of  his  com- 
rades. He  started  to  run  toward  the  river  yonder.  I 
caught  him  just  at  the  bank.  He  turned  on  me,  with 
his  knife  drawn  before  I  could  pull  my  own,  but  I 
caught  his  wrist  and — he  stabbed  himself.  Then  I 
tossed  him  into  the  river." 

I  entertained  a  vivid  memory  of  that  toss.  I  shiv- 
ered inwardly  as  I  remembered  the  dying  brave, 
himself  a  powerful  man,  shooting  out  from  the  bank, 
between  sky  and  water,  as  if  hurled  by  a  catapult. 
What  manner  of  a  man  was  this  who  held  such  havoc 
in  his  hands?  It  was  M.  De  Montefort  who  asked 
the  question  of  identity. 


30     THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"To  whom  am  I  indebted,"  he  inquired,  "for  the 
favor  of  the  killing,  m'sieur?" 

The  stranger  smiled  sombrely.  "  Men  call  me  John 
Godfrey,"  he  answered  simply. 

It  was  enough.  John  Godfrey,  the  man  whose 
prowess  had  made  tales  worth  the  telling  for  nearly 
a  decade  past  in  the  Pennsylvania  wastes  and  the 
forests  of  central  and  southern  New  York.  Incred- 
ible stories  of  his  courage  and  enormous  strength 
were  retailed  from  mouth  to  mouth  among  the  hunt- 
ers and  trappers  who  traversed  the  yet  undisturbed 
forests  of  our  own  region  and  those  of  Canada.  He 
was  a  semi-mystic  hero,  the  glamor  of  whose  deeds 
had  invested  his  personality  with  a  delightful  atmos- 
phere of  unreality.  Marvelous  were  the  stories  related 
of  him,  and,  in  view  of  what  we  had  seen,  they  were 
not  overdrawn.  Certainly  in  physical  endowment 
the  man  did  not  fall  short  of  what  had  been  claimed 
for  him. 

We  three  regarded  him  with  due  deference.  This  did 
not  appear  to  please  him  overmuch.  Indeed,  he 
shambled  impatiently,  like  a  disturbed  grizzly.  He 
had  not  volunteered  the  information  of  his  identity ; 
it  had  been  extracted  from  him. 

"  We  had  not  known,"  observed  Renee,  with  her  de- 
licious French  accent,  "that  M'sieur  Godfrey  was  in 
these  parts.  We  have  heard  of  him,  O,  often,  but 
mostly  from  yonder,"  and  she  pointed  southward. 

"My  trade  is  in  skins,"  he  rejoined.  "The  settle- 
ments are  thickening  to  the  south.  I  have  been  in 
this  region  six  months  and  like  it.  Pelts  are  plenti- 
ful. Should  it  become  too  thickly  populated  here, 
which  is  not  imminent,  Canada  is  left.  I  am  some- 
what acquainted  there  already,"  with  a  slight  smile. 
"  But  I  hope  it  will  be  some  time  before  the  hand  of 


JOHN  GODFREY  31 

man  uproots  these  magnificent  reaches,"  and  he 
smiled  again  with  a  touch  of  that  wistfulness  that 
we  all  felt  who  loved  the  forests  and  sorrowed  to  see 
them  fall,  as  inevitably  they  must  before  the  advance 
of  civilization. 

After  a  momen's  silence  M.  De  Montefort,  recol- 
lecting the  amenities,  introduced  himself  and  us  to 
the  giant  hunter,  who  acknowledged  the  presentation 
with  a  grace  of  bearing  which  contrasted  oddly 
enough  with  the  rude  garb  he  wore,  and  confirmed 
the  conviction  in  our  minds  that,  like  the  majority, 
he  had  a  history,  but  that  unlike  the  majority  his 
was  one  of  thrilling  interest. 

Following  a  suggestion  of  M.  De  Montefort's,  we 
turned  toward  the  cabin,  Godfrey  accompanying  us. 
As  we  started  he  whistled  and  there  appeared  from 
under  a  clump  of  bushes,  where  he  had  lain  unob- 
served till  now,  a  great,  gaunt,  black  hound,  power- 
fully built  and  of  a  formidable  breed,  possessing  a 
fine  intelligent  head.  The  brute  showed  good  blood 
and  superior  intellect. 

"This  is  Gypso,"  said  his  master,  with  a  wave  of 
the  hand.  The  dog  acknowledged  the  introduction 
with  a  blase'  yawn. 

Renee  laughed,  the  animal's  owner  glancing  at  her 
interrogatively.  "It  is  the  name,"  she  explained. 
"  Such  a  name  would  fit  a  lapdog,  so  long,  m'sieur," 
with  a  vivacious  gesture  of  demonstration.  "And 
such  a  name  for  that  great  beast,  monsieur ;  pardon- 
nez  moi,  but "  and  she  laughed  again. 

Godfrey's  stern  lips  relaxed  and  he  chuckled  gently, 
looking  down  at  the  great  hound  who  sat  with  up- 
raised head,  devotedly  eyeing  his  master.  The  trap- 
per's hand  stroked  the  hound's  head  caressingly. 

"  I  call  him  so,  mademoiselle,"  he  explained,  smiling 


32    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

benignly  at  Renee,  "  because  he  is  so  different.  He 
has  been  with  me  constantly  for  some  years.  He 
shows  it,"  pointing  comprehensively  at  the  dog's 
body,  which  was  liberally  scarred  with  the  marks  of 
conflict.  "  He  is  pure  gold  and  he  rings  true."  The 
dog  received  this  with  another  bored  yawn,  which 
was  probably  affected,  for  I  marked  a  betraying 
waggle  of  his  tail. 

As  we  proceeded  in  single  file  along  the  trail  toward 
the  cabin  Godfrey  commented  upon  the  presence  of 
the  Indian  thereabouts  at  that  time.  For  some  years 
the  settlers  had  been  comparatively  free  from  at- 
tack by  them,  as  the  redskins  were  growing  scarce 
in  that  region. 

"  He  was  from  a  certain  tribe  in  the  province  of 
Upper  Canada,"  said  Godfrey.  "  I  knew  him  and  he 
knew  me,  for  I  was  there  on  a  certain  occasion. 
They  have  not  forgotten  it  seems,"  and  he  laughed 
slightly.  "As  for  his  being  here  at  this  time,  there 
will  be  more  of  them  later.  There  will  soon  be  trouble 
between  this  country  and  England,  and  these  devils, 
you  may  be  sure,  are  spying  for  the  British.  The 
frontier  will  be  overrun  with  them,  I  fear,  but  there's 
one  less,"  his  teeth  clicking.  "  Of  course,  his  only 
object  in  killing  you,  m'sieur,  was  to  gratify  his 
fiend's  appetite  for  bringing  blood  from  behind." 
It  was  plain  that  the  famous  hunter  had  no  love  for 
this  particular  breed  of  savages.  Bitter  experience 
had  evidently  taught  him  better. 

M.  De  Montefort  walked  without  effort,  experiencing 
no  inconvenience  from  his  injury  except  a  slight  pain 
and  resultant  giddiness.  His  daughter,  immediately 
behind,  was  tenderly  solicitous.  As  for  me,  the  rush 
of  events  had  rather  obliterated  myself  from  my 
mind  and  I  nearly  forgot  to  hobble. 


JOHN  GODFREY  33 

We  reached  the  cabin  in  a  few  moments  and  after 
her  father's  head  had  been  bandaged,  in  which  God- 
frey, evidently  an  adept  in  these  little  matters,,  as- 
sisted her,  Renee  left  us  to  prepare  the  belated  dinner. 
The  Frenchman  retired  to  lie  down  and  Godfrey  and  I 
sat  on  the  little  porch,  warmed  by  the  gracious  sun, 
and  lighted  our  pipes.  Renee's  robin,  grown  sleepy, 
regarded  us  listlessly  from  his  perch.  The  trapper's 
hound  dozed  at  our  feet.  The  tobacco  was  deliciously 
aromatic;  we  inhaled  it  hungrily. 

The  trapper  sat  with  his  great  legs  comfortably 
extended,  his  hands  clasped  back  of  his  head,  his  cap 
off,  puffing  with  indolent  satisfaction.  The  smoke 
wreaths  curled  and  wavered.  We  watched  them,  all 
things  mellowing  through  the  blue  haze. 

There  were  golden  silences,  broken  only  by  an  oc- 
casional laconic  question  by  the  trapper  concerning 
myself.  Answering  as  briefly  at  the  first,  the  mild 
intoxication  of  the  nicotine  prevailed  and  I  told  him 
all  about  myself,  a  tale  which  after  all  might  have 
been  told  in  fewer  words  than  I  employed,  for  I  was 
young.  But  he  only  smiled  and  nodded  occasionally, 
though  I  noticed  that  he  responded  with  no  confi- 
dences in  return.  He  only  smoked,  blinking  lazily  in 
the  sunlight,  saying  nothing.  I  was  eager  to  hear 
some  of  the  strange  tales  he  could  tell  if  he  would. 
I  waited  the  moving  of  the  spirit.  It  remained  qui- 
escent. 

At  that  moment  the  hound  crouched  at  our  feet, 
growled  menacingly.  We  looked  up. 


CHAPTER  V 
A  Bravo  and  a  Bond 

Some  paces  away  a  man  stood  watching  us,  or 
rather,  Godfrey,  for  I  perceived  that  he  paid  little 
attention  to  me.  As  he  caught  sight  of  the  newcomer 
I  heard  a  sharp  intake  of  breath  from  my  com- 
panion, but  as  I  looked  toward  him  his  face  was 
inscrutable.  He  was  surveying  the  man  before  him 
with  an  impersonal  and  listless  curiosity.  For  his 
part,  the  stranger  gazed  at  the  trapper  in  a  manner 
that  was  patently  vindictive.  The  two  stared  at 
each  other  without  words,  the  hush  pregnant  with  a. 
something  which  I  felt  I  could  not  fathom.  I  knew 
instinctively  that  into  the  present  there  had  leaped 
without  warning  some  drama  of  the  past. 

The  stranger  was  not  of  ordinary  appearance.  A 
greater  contrast  physically  to  Godfrey  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  find.  The  man  was  short,  his  height 
not  exceeding  five  and  a  half  feet,  but  his  breadth  of 
shoulder  and  depth  of  chest  were  enormous.  He  was 
dressed  in  rough  hunting  garb,  which  did  not  hide  the 
evidences  of  herculean  strength,  for  the  massive  frame 
indicated  colossal  power.  A  short,  thick,  bull  neck, 
coarsely  red,  jutted  from  between  the  hulking  shoulders 
supporting  a  round  small  head,  on  either  side  of 
which  protruded  a  great  bat-like  ear.  A  snarled  mane 
of  coarse  red  hair  hung  unkempt  from  under  the  peak 
of  the  battered  cap,  while  a  thick  beard  and  mous- 


A  BRAVO  AND  A  BOND  35 

tache  of  like  hue  concealed  the  mouth  and  lower 
portion  of  the  face,  an  office  which  I  mentally  con- 
jectured was  a  kindness.  The  eyes  were  strangely 
narrow,  deep  set  and  shifty.  They  were  craftily  yel- 
low in  tint,  like  a  cat's,  and  blinked  uncannily  in  the 
sunlight.  The  brow  was  low  to  brutishness  and  the 
skin  of  the  face  and  great  calloused  paws  was  of  an 
ugly  blotchy  red.  The  whole  expression  was  infinite- 
ly sinister  and  forbidding.  He  carried  a  rifle  and  a 
knife  and  pistol  was  thrust  in  his  belt.  I  noticed 
that  one  foot  was  somewhat  deformed  and  he  moved 
with  a  great  limp. 

"  The  forests  of  this  northern  country  are  plenti- 
ful in  game,"  he  said  finally,  addressing  Godfrey,  his 
strange  eyes  gleaming  fitfully  in  a  series  of  feline 
blinks.  "  I  am  myself  trying  my  fortune,"  with  a 
significant  glance,  the  import  of  which  my  com- 
panion evidently  guessed. 

I  could  have  yelled  aloud  in  my  surprise.  The  voice 
of  this  monster,  for  he  was  nothing  less,  was  a  reve- 
lation. Rich,  deep  toned,  vibrant,  it  rolled  from  his 
course  lips  like  the  swelling  notes  of  an  organ.  Never 
was  such  an  anomaly.  Repulsive  and  hideous  in 
personality  to  the  last  degree,  one  would  expect  a 
snarling  harshness  to  proceed  from  his  opened  mouth, 
yet  here  was  sonorous  music.  It  was  nature's  com- 
pensation, flung  doubtless  at  the  last  in  remorse  for 
her  otherwise  horrible  handiwork. 

"As  you  say,"  dryly  rejoined  Godfrey,  stretching 
his  legs  with  a  yawn,  "these  woods  are  plentiful  in 
game.  My  experience  among  them  has  not  been 
small  and  I  have  shot  and  trapped  many  varieties. 
But  still,"  a  sudden  flame  leaping  from  his  eyes, 
"  I  sometimes  have  the  good  fortune  to  secure  the  pelt 
of  a  new  beast,  hitherto  unmet  in  these  parts." 


36    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

It  was  a  shaft  and  it  struck  home.  The  ugly  face 
grew  livid  and  the  hairy  hand  darted  swiftly  toward 
the  belt.  John's  fingers  flew  in  a  similar  direction. 
A  swift  duel  with  the  eyes  and  the  stranger's  hand 
dropped  to  his  side.  Godfrey's  followed  suit,  his 
face  impassive  but  a  baleful  light  in  his  black  eyes. 

"  The  more  varieties  the  merrier,  good  sir,"  re- 
sponded the  stranger,  with  a  forced  grin  that  curled 
the  corners  of  his  lips  into  a  snarl  like  an  angry 
dog's.  "  I  shall  take  the  more  pleasure  in  skinning 
them,"  his  vicious  grin  spreading  like  a  fowl,  dank 
fog.  "But,  tell  me,  gentlemen,  for  I  am  somewhat 
strange  to  these  regions,  how  far  am  I  from  the 
settlement  of  Watertown?" 

"  A  day's  journey  or  two,"    replied    Godfrey,    an 
ticipating  me.    "  Follow  this  stream  till  it  reaches  the 
Kahuahgo,  then  that  water  down.    You  might  float 
down,"  he  added  with  grim  suggestion,  his  expression 
indicating  the  grisly  nature  of  the  pleasantry. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  answered  the  un  welcomed  guest, 
with  sarcastic  comprehension.  "  I  prefer  the  banks. 
They  are  safer." 

"  No  surer,"  muttered  the  trapper  with  slow  mean- 
ing. "  But  tell  us,"  he  inquired  suddenly,  "  with 
whom  we  have  the  honor  to  converse." 

"  William  Barclay,  gameseeker,  at  your  service," 
promptly  replied  the  visitor,  with  a  cunning  glance 
of  challenge  at  Godfrey.  "  I  am  lying  shamelessly," 
so  the  glance  told  us,  "  but  for  reasons  that  are  good 
you  will  not  say  so." 

Nor  did  he.  He  stared  at  the  fellow  a  moment 
with  grim  amusement.  "  You  may  be  sure  I  am  glad 
to  meet  you,  Mr.  Barclay,"  he  said  sarcastically, 
"I  hope  that  in  the  not  distant  future  we  shall  be 
accorded  the  pleasure  of  meeting  again." 


A  BRAVO  AND  A  BOND  37 

"  I  share  your  wish,"  replied  the  visitor,  his  strange 
voice  enriched  with  a  throb  of  unmistakable  inten- 
sity. Again  I  was  struck  by  the  indescribable  con- 
trast between  the  voice  and  the  hateful  personality. 
The  one  pulsed  with  music,  the  other  was  a  foul 
discord  in  the  midst  of  the  autumnal  beauty  sur- 
rounding us.  The  hideous  face  was  just  now  elo- 
quent with  malevolence  unmasked;  little  red  devils 
danced  in  the  venomous  eyes  that  were  turned  on 
Godfrey.  He  seemed  a  wild  beast,  ready  to  rend  and 
tear  for  the  mere  glut  of  blood-letting — till  he  spoke. 
Then  you  wondered. 

For  his  voice  possessed  not  only  natural  beauty, 
but  it  was  replete  with  those  acquired  graces  that 
come  of  Christian  culture  and  a  previous  environment 
oddly  out  of  keeping  with  the  present  position  of  the 
graceless  owner.  Villain  was  writ,  as  it  had  been 
graven  on  stone  tablets,  upon  his  sin-scarred  face, 
yet  his  enunciation  revealed  the  purist,  while  such 
was  the  round,  full  utterance,  the  polished  precision 
of  pronunciation  and  expression  of  that  voice  that  a 
blind  man  had  listened  spellbound  and  beheld,  mir- 
rored in  the  retina  of  the  mind,  a  demigod. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  slight  stir  behind  us 
and  we  turned  to  behold  Renee,  who  had  just  emerged 
from  the  kitchen,  the  door  of  which  had  been  closed. 
"Dinner  will  be  ready  shortly,  messieurs,"  she  said. 
She  paused  abruptly,  her  eyes  widening  unpleasantly 
startled.  In  deference  to  fellow  beings,  Trapper  Bar- 
clay should  have  gone  masked. 

"This,  mademoiselle,"  said  Godfrey,  with  ironical 
courtesy,  "is  one  William  Barclay,  a  trapper  who  is 
new  to  these  parts.  We  have  been  holding  pleasant 
parley  with  him." 

As  Renee  appeared,  the  fellow  glanced  at  her  with 


3  8    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

a  carelessness  which  changed  to  a  swift,  certain  in- 
terest. Then  his  gaze  deepened  with  a  base,  brutal 
admiration.  The  light  hazel  eyes,  yellowish  and  cat- 
like, leered;  the  lips  parted  coarsely.  I  clenched  my 
fist  voluntarily;  there  came  from  Godfrey  a  low 
growl  of  disgust. 

The  girl,  disconcerted  at  the  creature's  gaze,  glanced 
nervously  toward  us.  "  The  dinner  will  soon  be  pre- 
pared," she  murmured.  "Perhaps, — " 

"Our  friend  has  not  the  time  for  dinner,"  inter- 
rupted Godfrey,  answering  for  him  with  cool  ur- 
banity. "  It  is  necessary  for  him  to  be  moving  down 
stream  at  once,  for  time  presses.  He  has  a  risky 
mission  to  perform  and  must  get  his  meals  mostly 
with  his  gun  in  the  forest,  so  has  not  the  time  for 
amenities.  He  must  leave  us  at  once,  there  is  scant 
time  for  adieux.  Is  it  not  so,  Barclay?" 

"Quite  so,  I  must  be  leaving,"  assented  the  badg- 
ered blackguard,  casting  a  venomous  look  at  God- 
frey to  my  great  diversion.  I  noticed  Renee's  start 
of  surprise  upon  hearing  his  voice.  Murmuring  some 
quite  unfelt  regret  at  his  inability  to  remain,  she 
returned,  gladly  enough  I  made  no  doubt,  to  the 
kitchen,  closing  the  door. 

Without  a  word,  but  with  a  look  of  hatred  toward 
Godfrey,  who  returned  it  with  insolent  amusement, 
the  man  who  called  himself  Barclay  turned  to  go. 
In  his  path  stood  Godfrey's  hound,  surveying  him 
with  eyes  of  enmity,  born  I  judge  of  the  honest  con- 
tempt which  a  good  dog  always  feels  for  a  human 
cur  whom  he  gauges.  The  dumb  animal  appeared 
suddenly  to  anger  the  inferior  one,  who  kicked  the 
poor  brute  full  in  the  mouth.  The  hound  sprang  for- 
ward, the  fellow  leaping  to  one  side,  swinging  his  gun 
overhead  in  order  to  brain  the  dog. 


DOUBLING    HIS   FIST,    HE    DROVE    IT    STRAIGHT    INTO   THE 

MOUTH  OF   HIS  OPPONENT  Page  3» 


A  BRAVO  AND  A  BOND  39 

I  jumped  to  my  feet,  but,  with  a  bound  like  a  re- 
leased spring,  Godfrey  was  by  me.  In  a  flash,  before 
the  clubbed  stock  could  descend,  he  had  reached  the 
stranger  and  seized  the  barrel  of  his  weapon  with 
two  furious  hands.  For  a  breathless  moment  the 
two  giants,  so  oddly  dissimilar,  swayed  in  a  savage, 
muscle-cracking  fight  for  the  rifle,  shifting  grips  in 
the  attempt  to  wrest  it  from  one  another's  hands. 
For  my  part  I  watched  them  fascinated,  while  hold- 
ing back  with  difficulty  the  maddened  dog,  who  with 
furious  growls  sought  participation.  The  veins  bulged 
in  the  necks  of  the  struggling  men,  the  breath  hiss- 
ing serpent-like  from  between  their  bared  teeth. 

In  a  brief  moment,  however,  the  enormous  leverage 
of  Godfrey's  giant  arms  told.  The  rifle  swung  slowly 
over,  then,  with  a  powerful  twist,  it  was  wrenched 
from  its  owner's  hands.  Godfrey  hurled  it  clean 
across  the  clearing  into  the  woods.  Then,  doubling 
his  fist,  he  drove  it  with  fearful  force  straight  into 
the  mouth  of  his  opponent.  The  man  fell  like  a  log, 
an  oath,  together  with  much  blood,  bubbling  from 
his  mutilated  lips. 

"That  is  for  my  hound,"  said  Godfrey  grimly. 
"And  now,  damn  you,  go!"  he  demanded,  bending 
over  his  prostrate  enemy,  his  voice  low  with  terrible 
passion.  "Go  while  you  can  crawl,  before  I  forget 
that  God  lives  and  steals  His  privilege  of  sending 
your  soul  to  hell !  My  patience  is  done !  Leave  here 
before  you  join  your  dead  devil  in  the  river  yonder, 
for  if  you  do  not,  by  God,  there  will  be  the  blood  of 
two  men  on  my  hands  this  day!" 

The  wretch  slowly  scrambled  to  his  feet,  impotent 
fury  blasting  his  horrible  face  like  a  flame.  The 
crushed,  swelling  lips,  with  shreds  of  torn  flesh  hang- 
ing from  them,  parted  painfully  in  a  grin  like  a  dog's, 


40    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

a  grotesque  grin  of  hate.  The  yellow  eyes  shot  mur 
derous  malice,  but,  deep  down  in  them,  there  cowered 
a  deadly  fear.  He  swayed  unsteadily  a  moment  and 
viciously  spat  out  a  couple  of  loosened  fangs.  Then, 
with  a  last  look  of  malice  and  all  uncharitableness, 
he  turned,  still  wordless,and  slunk  away  to  the  forest. 

Godfrey  drew  a  big  breath  as  the  burly  figure  was 
lost  to  sight.  He  clenched  his  great  fist  and  let  it  fall 
softly  to  his  side,  a  silent  gesture  loud  with  eloquence. 

"  I  should  have  killed  him,"  he  muttered,  "  but  his 
black  blood  is  for  other  hands  than  mine."  We  re- 
turned silently  to  the  rude  porch  and  sat  down. 

Inside  we  could  hear  the  hiss  of  steam  that  rose 
from  the  ponderous,  iron  tea  kettle.  There  was  the 
faint  clatter  of  crockery ;  swift,  light  steps ;  the  vague 
sounds  of  the  mysterous  bustle  that  pertains  to  the 
cuisine.  From  another  part  of  the  interior  there 
came,  at  measured  intervals,  a  long  drawn,  droning 
note;  weird,  inexpressibly  mournful.  It  was  unmis- 
takable. His  daughter's  father  was  snoring. 

The  little  drama  had  fortunately  disturbed  neither 
of  them,  and  indeed  it  had  not  been  an  unduly  noisy 
one.  Godfrey's  voice  when  in  extreme  anger  was  not 
of  the  blatting  and  roaring  variety.  It  was  far  more 
dangerous,  dropping  to  a  low  intensity  of  rage  which 
was  apt  to  congeal  the  object  of  his  ire.  The  hound, 
being  made  of  stern  stuff,  made  no  outcry  over  his 
hurt  other  than  guttural  growls  of  resentment.  So, 
to  our  relief,  the  sight  of  the  spirited  occurrence  had 
been  limited  to  ourselves. 

Godfrey  sat  regarding  some  badly  skinned  knuckles. 
They  reminded  him  of  the  dog.  He  called  the  poor 
brute,  who  with  bloody  jowl  came  to  him. 

Godfrey  inserted  a  thumb  and  opened  the  dog's 
jaws.  "He  kicked  out  one  of  your  teeth,"  he 


A  BRAVO  AND  A  BOND  41 

observed  reflectively,  feeling  of  the  broken  fang,  "  but 
don't  you  mind.  He's  lost  two."  The  dog  whined 
and  licked  the  sore  knuckles. 

I  had  wondered,  since  the  trapper's  outburst  dur- 
ing the  encounter,  at  his  reference  to  the  Indian  who 
had  been  with  the  stranger.  I  had  noticed  that  the 
bravo's  fear  had  grown  at  the  words.  It  was  evident 
that  Godfrey  knew  much  about  the  nearly  simul- 
taneous appearance  of  these  two  unclean  birds.  I 
wanted  to  ask  him  for  an  explanation,  but  the  trap- 
per was  hardly  one  from  whom  to  extract  confi- 
dences. I  waited  for  him  to  volunteer  them ;  waited 
indefinitely.  He  sat  with  one  leg  thrown  over  the 
other;  hands  clasping  a  bony  knee;  black  eyes 
fixed  sombrely  upon  the  glowing  forest;  eyes  that 
were  dimmed  with  the  wistful  shadow  that  sometimes 
falls,  veiling  the  vision,  blotting  out  for  breath  the 
dearth  of  the  present  moment  for  some  glad,  return- 
ing mirage  of  the  dear,  dead  past ;  a  mirage  glorified 
and  given  substance  by  some  dim  and  tender  memory, 
creeping  from  its  dark  cell  into  transitory  light  and 
life. 

A  feminine  rustle  roused  us.  "Dinner  is  finally 
ready,  messieurs,"  Renee's  voice  was  saying.  "Tell 
me,  are  you  not  famished?  Where  is  that  horrible 
man?  Or  is  he  a  friend  of  yours?"  She  flushed, 
regarding  Godfrey. 

Godfrey  glanced  at  me,  his  sombre  face  relaxing. 
"  My  acquaintance  is  large,  mam'selle,"  he  responded, 
"  but  my  friends  are  few.  The  man  is  one  I  happened 
to  strike  in  the  woods  shortly  since.  He  is  gone." 

I  choked  slightly  and  grew  red.  Mademoiselle,  un- 
suspecting, glanced  at  me  with  solicitude.  Had  I 
swallowed  something? 

"Not yet,"  I  told  her,  "but  I  am  quite  ready  to." 


42    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

She  was  contrite.  "We  must  delay  no  longer!"  she 
exclaimed.  "  You  must  both  be  starved !"  Her  voice 
rang  out  in  summons.  "  Father  !"  she  called.  "  It  is 
to  dine!" 

A  sleepy  voice  answered  her,  and  while  Godfrey  and 
I  were  making  our  ablutions  the  old  Frenchman 
appeared,  breaking  off  a  prodigious  yawn  in  the 
middle  with  native  consideration  as  he  saw  us.  We 
drew  up  and  sat  down  before  the  table,  which  was 
spread  in  the  living  room.  All  things  were  good. 
We  ate  them. 

The  tinkle  of  cutlery  rang  a  summons  on  the  plates, 
whereat  Godfrey's  hound  appeared  sniffing  in  the  now 
open  doorway,  eyeing  us  wistfully.  Renee's  robin  also 
poked  his  impudent  nose  inside,  and,  fluttering  awk- 
wardly to  a  point  of  vantage  on  her  shoulder,  swag- 
gered there  insolently,  staring  at  us  with  bold  eyes. 
Godfrey  was  introduced  to  him,  but  even  then  the 
bird  was  unimpressed,  emerging  from  his  boredom 
only  when  his  mistress  began  to  feed  him.  He  was 
always  eating. 

Since  my  enforced  stay  at  the  cabin  I  had  rejoiced 
in  a  languid  appetite,  as  became  an  invalid.  But 
my  stroll,  with  its  attending  incidents,  had  aroused 
the  sleeping  monster,  who  clamored  and  would  not  be 
denied.  I  passed  my  plate  for  more  and  in  a  moment 
blushed  to  find  it  gone.  I  remembered  with  whole- 
some shame  that  it  was  the  third  time. 

Godfrey  continued  to  pass  his  with  philosophic 
calm.  I  regarded  him  with  envy.  He  had  evidently 
long  since  accepted  his  appetite  as  a  stubborn  fact, 
and,  with  resignation,  made  the  most  of  it.  I  was 
not  yet  hardened,  being  a  younger  man,  and  my  con- 
science troubled  me.  Renee,  quietly  imperturbable, 
continued  without  respite  to  pass  our  plates  on  to 


A  BRAVO  AND  A  BOND  43 

her  father,  managing  by  diligence  between  whiles  to 
supply  herself  and  the  bird,  which  chirped  greedily 
upon  her  shoulder.  A  low  whine  implored  her.  She 
tossed  a  fragment  deftly  through  the  open  door. 
There  was  a  whirl  and  a  scramble;  the  dog's  tail 
vanishing,  waved  a  benediction. 

The  Frenchman  was  speaking.  "  My  friend,"  hesaid, 
addressing  Godfrey,  "I  hope  you  may  remain  with 
us  some  days.  This  poor  place  is  not  unknown  to  a 
great  many  of  the  men  who  seek  their  sustenance  in 
the  forests  of  this  region,  and,  I  need  hardly  say,  I 
should  deem  it  an  honor  to  entertain  the  foremost  of 
them  all,  particularly  for  the  service  rendered  me  and 
mine  this  day." 

"I  shall  be  pleased  to  remain  with  you  a  day  or 
two,"  replied  the  trapper,  "though  it  can  be  only 
for  a  short  time.  I  am  on  my  way  to  Sackets  Har- 
bor, monsieur,  where,  as  you  must  know,  there  is  now 
hostile  preparation.  I  believe  that  a  break  with  Eng- 
land is  imminent.  In  such  an  event  the  Harbor  will 
be  of  the  greatest  value  as  a  strategic  position.  Prep- 
arations cannot  be  pushed  too  rapidly  there,  more- 
over, for  I  understand  that  the  regular  force  of  sol- 
diery there  is  very  small,  while  the  ranks  of  raw  militia 
of  this  sparsely  settled  region  need  much  preparation. 
Also  there  is  as  yet  nothing  more  formidable  in  the 
naval  line  than  a  fleet  of  fishing  smacks.  It  is  my 
purpose,  monsieur,"  he  continued  quietly,  "to  offer 
what  small  assistance  lies  in  my  power  to  the  military 
authorities  there.  I  have  had  some  experience  and 
may  be  found  useful  in  some  humble  way." 

There  was  a  slight  pause.  "Mr.  Godfrey,"  I  said 
finally,  "  I  was  myself  returning  to  the  Harbor,  from 
an  idle  forest  prowl,  for  that  very  purpose,  when  I 
encountered  the  dilemma  of  which  I  told  you  and 


44    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

from  which  mademoiselle  here  so  intrepidly  rescued 
me.  If  you  will  have  the  patience  to  remain  here  a 
brief  space  till  I  am  in  physical  shape  to  undertake 
the  journey  I  should  be  glad  to  return  with  you 
and  take  you  to  my  home.  The  struggle  is  close  at 
hand,"  I  went  on,  an  odd  thrill  tingling  my  spine, 
"and,  like  all  my  countrymen,  I  am  eager  for  it.  And 
though  I  presume,  sir,  upon  this  hour's  acquaintance, 
I  can  only  say  that  I  should  count  it  an  inestimable 
privilege  if  I  were  permitted  to  see  this  fight  through 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  you." 

Godfrey's  eyes,  aglow  with  the  fire  that  revealed  his 
intrepid  soul,  gazed  into  my  own.  Whatever  they 
read  there,  it  is  sufficient  that  in  that  instant  the 
subtle  something  that  once  in  the  lives  of  some  men 
draws  two,  the  one  to  the  other,  closer  than  brothers, 
bound  us  and  mysteriously  linked  our  fates  until 
severance  and  the  end.  Across  the  table  we  silently 
clasped  hands,  cementing  what  was  to  each  a  strange 
new  tie.  Friends  in  all  and  more  than  the  word 
implies ;  friends  through  the  gold  and  the  gray,  to  the 
Valley  of  the  Shadow — and  beyond. 

There  was  a  silence.  The  great  clock  ticked  over 
loud.  A  faint  breeze  sighed  humanly.  The  robin 
peered  at  us  curiously  from  Renee's  shoulder.  Renee 
smiled  at  us,  a  tremulous  little  smile. 

The  old  Frenchman's  eyes  were  blurred.  Winking 
them  vigorously  he  rose  to  his  feet  with  uplifted  glass. 

"Bien!  A  votre  sante!"  he  proposed.  "Et  mes- 
sieurs, vive  la  France;  vive  PAmerique!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

My  Dream  Lady 

Renee  and  I  watched  the  brawling  water,  furious 
with  foam,  rushing  and  rioting.  The  little  clearing 
at  the  end  of  the  winding  trail  had  begun  to  look 
forlorn.  The  grasses  were  shriveling,  the  green  sober- 
ing into  a  listless  brown.  A  network  of  blackberry 
briers,  hopelessly  naked,  snarled  sullenly  in  fretful 
fashion  at  our  feet.  Each  day  the  departing  glory 
of  their  leafage  left  the  trees  barer.  We  trod  upon  a 
royal  carpet  of  red  and  gold.  As  we  looked,  a  sudden 
breath  of  wind  quivered  the  branches  of  a  tall  maple 
that  grew  on  the  sharp  bank  of  the  stream.  A 
shower  of  leaves  fell,  fluttering  like  gorgeous  butter- 
flies, into  the  water,  when  they  were  whisked  re- 
lentlessly away  into  whirling  eddies,  drowned  and 
draggled. 

The  morning  air  was  still  keen  with  the  tang  of 
the  frost  of  the  preceding  night.  Delicious  as  wine, 
laden  with  spicy  forest  odors,  it  freshened  the  lungs 
and  fired  the  eye.  Deftly  as  a  lady's  maid,  it  car- 
mined  Renee's  cheeks  and  the  summer  lived  again  in 
the  pink  roses.  Her  eyes  the  eyes  that  were  like 
the  sunlit  sea  under  a  cloudless  sky,  wandered  afar, 
past  the  wood-girt  shore,  to  the  southward.  Dream- 
ily and  wistfully  they  yearned  for  the  vanished 
summer. 

A  week  had  passed  since  Godfrey's  arrival.    I  had 


46     THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

been  gaining  strength  swiftly,  was  now  almost  thor- 
oughly fit  and  had  ceased  wholly  to  hobble.  John 
and  I  had  determined  to  leave  for  Sackets  Harbor 
at  noon  of  this  day,  for  I  was  now  able  to  under- 
take the  journey. 

I  had  risen  with  a  feeling  of  reluctance  to  leave, 
and  as  I  thought  upon  it  my  heart  grew  heavier. 
Conflicting  emotions  smote  me  hip  and  thigh.  I 
would  not  have  remained  longer  if  I  could,  and  yet, 
for  such  was  my  state  of  mind,  to  remain  would  glad- 
den me.  All  my  youth's  hot  blood  was  stirred  with 
the  desire  to  be  at  home,  in  the  thick  of  the  grim 
preparation  I  knew  was  in  progress,  and  yet  the 
imminence  of  my  departure  from  the  cabin  made  me 
sick  at  heart. 

For  a  sweet  face  drifted  in  my  dreams.  Clear  eyes 
gazed  into  mine  and  the  warm  sun  flamed;  where 
they  were  not,  the  shadows  lengthened.  Her  words, 
like  sweet  bells,  attuned  my  world  to  melody; 
the  way  of  her  slender  feet  led  into  paths  of 
peace,  into  groves  of  a  holy  calm  wherein  noth- 
ing gross  could  enter;  into  the  majestic  cathe- 
dral of  a  realized  ideal,  with  its  vast  roof  that 
reached  to  the  throne  of  God,  its  throbbing  organ,  its 
silent  worshippers.  There  had  entered  into  my  life  the 
light  that  never  was  on  land  or  sea  for  any  unhappy 
fool  who  has  spurned  the  cup  and  put  love  from 
him.  I  loved  Renee. 

She  did  not  know  it,  nor  had  I  for  long.  It  was 
only  this  morning,  the  morning  that  brought  the 
parting,  that  I  awoke  with  the  leaden  weight  at  my 
heart.  I  had  wondered  dully,  in  the  instant  ere  full 
consciousness  came,  why  the  weight  was  there.  My 
eyes  opened  and  I  regretfully  remembered  the  coming 
parting. 


MY  DREAM  LADY  47 

The  weight  grew  heavier  and  suddenly  I  knew — knew 
that  I  loved  Renee. 

I  lay  still  for  a  few  moments,  staring  solemnly  out 
of  the  sun-brightened  window.  The  sudden  realization 
brought  to  me  nothing  of  the  foolish  exultation  and 
high  fever  of  which  we  read  so  much  and  disprove  so 
thoroughly.  Rather  I  felt  overwhelmed  by  a  strange 
and  solemn  thing,  something  I  could  not  analyze  as 
yet.  It  was  as  if  I  had  stood  at  the  portal  of  a 
temple  hitherto  unseen,  quaking  upon  the  threshold. 
From  within  there  came  to  me  the  odor  of  incense; 
music  that  soared,  bearing  me  upon  its  wings  closer 
to  the  stars;  voices  of  infinite  sweetness  that  told 
of  a  pure,  white  grace.  Within  were  alternate  bursts 
of  divine  harmonies  and  the  fall  of  sweet  silences. 
Without  there  led  up  to  this  portal  a  path  that  wound 
over  sunny  slopes  and  by  green  pastures  from  its 
beginning;  through  shadowy  woodlands,  crossed  by 
little  streams  that  gurgled  carelessly ;  a  path  wherein 
the  pilgrim  strays,  carefree  and  heartfree,  till  he 
comes  to  the  temple. 

And  so  I  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  path  which 
I  had  traversed  alone  and  stood  hesitant  at  the 
door  of  the  temple.  My  eyes  were  dim  for  the  days 
that  had  been,  for  I  knew  that  once  within  the  por- 
tal there  would  be  a  difference.  Even  on  the  thresh- 
old a  sense  of  a  thousand  austerities  bore  in  upon 
my  spirit;  a  vague  feeling  that  approached  depression; 
the  gray  mist  that  such  a  crisis  brings.  For  the  boy 
comes  whistling  up  the  path  to  the  door  of  the  tem- 
ple, but  when  he  passes  in  he  is  a  man.  And  when 
one  has  become  a  man  the  boyhood  that  was  seems 
doubly  sweet. 

So  it  was  with  solemn  eyes  that  I  lay  this  morning, 
my  hands  clasped  under  my  head,  staring  out  of 


48    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

the  sunlit  window  toward  the  slowly  opening  door 
of  the  temple.  I  was  passing  into  it.  I  reflected. 
To  find  her  and  to  walk  with  her  always.  She  might 
not  be  for  me;  it  might  not  be  so  written.  She  might 
never  know  that  I  sought  her  in  the  temple.  She 
might  indeed — and  my  eyes  grew  troubled — enter  it 
with  another.  And  yet  it  was  written  that  she  must 
ever  be  with  me  to  the  end,  even  should  she  not 
give  herself  to  me.  For,  looking  in  at  the  door  of 
the  temple,  I  beheld  her  image  and  I  passed  through 
and  the  door  closed  forever  upon  the  path. 

If  it  should  not  be  that  her  life  be  linked  with 
mine,  I  should  always  have  my  dream  lady.  Her 
clear,  sweet  eyes,  Renee's  eyes,  should  search  my 
own  and  hold  me  true  to  high  ideals;  her  white  hand 
should  beckon  me  in  the  dimness  of  the  temple,  on 
to  the  Holy  of  Holies  and  beyond  the  sombre  pall 
that  veils  the  final  and  most  stupendous  mystery. 

Ah,  these  dream  women !  Potent  with  power  for 
weal  or  woe,  how  they  haunt  us  who  walk  alone  in 
the  temple!  The  days  are  murmurous  with  their 
soft  laughter ;  the  breeze  croons  to  the  cradled  leaves 
and  in  the  lay  we  hear  the  rustle  of  their  garments. 
In  the  emptiness  of  night  we  stretch  out  our  arms 
to  them  and  they  are  always  just  away.  Their  eyes, 
brilliant  in  the  soft  darkness,  lead  us  on  and  on, 
perhaps  to  despair,  mayhap  to  peace.  It  seemed 
then  that  for  the  latter  there  was  the  greatest 
consummation,  in  that  one  was  led  into  a  fair 
world,  a  world  of  tenderness  and  trust,  of  gentleness 
unknowable. 

And  so  it  was  Renee;  Renee  to  the  end,  in  the  fair 
flesh  if  God  willed  it  so ;  in  the  pure  spirit  if  its  lovely 
tenement  were  denied  me.  In  all  humility  I  aspired  to 
her;  yet  if  I  sought  her  in  vain,  it  was  she  and  she 


MY  DREAM  LADY  49 

alone  who  might  lead  me  onward  and  upward.  Sweet 
eyes,  like  loadstars,  would  shine  into  my  own;  a 
white  hand  beckon  me ;  a  clear  voice,  dimly  echoing, 
would  sound  in  compassionate  murmurings  in  my 
dreams.  Infinite  tenderness,  the  incomparable  sweet- 
ness of  her  would  be  mine,  for  it  was  the  white  soul 
of  her  that  I  loved  above  all  else.  Together  till  the 
sun  be  blotted  out  in  darkness  for  us,  till  we  heard 
the  wash  of  the  waves  that  rolled  forever  in  eternity's 
shoreless  sea,  I  and  my  dream  lady.  It  was  enough — 
or  seemed  so  then. 

So  I  had  reflected  upon  my  waking,  taking  no 
thought  of  time,  which  was  rapidly  forging  breakfast- 
ward.  In  the  midst  of  my  reverie  there  came  an  in- 
congruous interruption  in  the  shape  of  Godfrey's 
hound.  He  burst  into  my  room  like  a  solid  shot, 
and,  leaping  upon  my  bed,  bedewed  my  face  with 
affectionate  slobberings,  encouraged  by  the  shouts  of 
his  master  below.  Exasperated  at  my  delay,  John, 
my  lately  acquired  Pythias,  had  done  this  thing. 

It  was  enough.  My  wistful  conjurings,  my  lofty 
visions,  fluttered  away  like  sacred  coveys  before  the 
bestial  onslaught.  The  beast,  I  was  first  inclined  to 
cuff,  but  I  sighed  and  patted  him  instead.  I  was  un- 
alterably recalled  to  earth,  realities  and  breakfast. 
It  was  life.  I  dressed. 

It  was  rather  a  silent  meal.  M.  De  Montefort's 
manner  showed  genuine  regret  at  our  departure. 
John  was  silent  and  inscrutable.  Renee  was  rather 
grave.  The  robin  was  clamoring  greedily  upon  her 
shoulder  and  interpolating  his  outcries  with  chuckles 
of  satisfaction,  between  courses,  at  our  prospective 
flitting.  I  glowered  at  him  and  ate  little. 

The  meal  ended,  M.  De  Montefort  and  John  went 
outside  to  smoke.  I  asked  Renee  to  accompany  me  in 


50    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

a  final  stroll  to  the  river.  She  assented.  Godfrey's 
hound  begged  to  go  along  and  was  not  denied.  So 
Renee  and  I  sat  on  a  fallen  tree  trunk,  the  hound  at 
our  feet.  Renee  gazed  to  the  southward ;  I  gazed  at 
Renee;  the  hound  gazed  upon  us  both  and  yawned 
mightily. 

Presently  Renee's  voice  called  for  the  pigeons. 
There  came  no  responsive  flutter.  Only  a  few  crows, 
circling  overhead,  cawed  drearily. 

"  They  are  all  gone,"  she  said  sadly.  "  It  was  bon 
jour  and  away.  They  feared  the  dreariness,  m'sieur, 
the  snow  and  the  bitter  wind,  the  loneliness  of  winter. 
Winter,  how  I  hate  it !  It  was  different  in  France ! " 
and  she  sighed. 

"  I  grow  lonesome  here,"  she  went  on,  a  little  catch 
in  her  voice,  her  sweet  eyes  moistening.  "  It  is  lonely 
in  this  strange,  savage  wilderness,  where  the  sight  of 
fellow  creatures  is  so  rare.  In  the  summer,  to  be 
sure,  the  solitude  is  bearable,  for  it  is  beautiful  and 
I  have  my  birds.  But  in  the  winter,  the  desolate 
winter  that  buries  us  so  hopelessly,  when  even  the 
birds  are  gone !  We  live  on  drearily,  my  father  and 
I,  in  the  isolation.  And  we  welcome  the  spring  with 
such  warmth,  m'sieur, — ah,  do  we  not !  It  is  like  the 
bear  crawling  out  of  his  cave.  The  green  things 
shoot  up,  the  leaves  bud,  the  warm  sun  shines  and 
we  begin  to  live  again." 

I  turned  to  her,  my  own  face  shadowed.  "  Believe 
me,  mademoiselle,  I  feel  for  you,"  I  told  her.  "Our 
northern  rigors  are  hard  enough  to  bear,  even  for 
communities.  For  those  alone,  as  your  father  and 
yourself,  it  is  far  worse.  It  seems  to  me,  though  you 
will  pardon  the  comment  in  a  matter  which  does 
not  concern  me,  that  you  would  be  happier  if  your 
father  elected  to  live  in  one  of  the  settlements." 


MY  DREAM  LADY  $r 

She  made  a  little  gesture  of  dissent  with  girlish 
dignity.  "  My  father's  wishes  in  this  as  in  all  matters 
are  mine  also,"  she  said.  "  My  desire  is  only  to  re- 
main with  him,  no  matter  where  he  may  care  to  be. 
Besides,  he  has  reasons  for  the  life  he  lives,  excellent 
ones,  monsieur." 

"Indeed,  I  had  not  meant  to  offend,  mam'selle," 
I  hastened  to  assure  her,  deprecating  the  emphasis  of 
her  final  words.  "My  remark  was  prompted  wholly 
through  consideration  for  your  loneliness." 

She  smiled  softly.  "And  yet,"  she  answered  me, 
"the  loneliness,  irksome  as  it  is  in  this  solitude,  is 
nothing,  mon  ami,  absolutely  nothing  to  what  I  once 
experienced  in  the  heart  of  a  teeming  city,  surrounded 
by  loving  friends,  any  one  of  whom  would  have  done 
any  thing  for  me;  such  loneliness  as  first  rent  and  then 
numbed  my  heart,  though  I  was  but  a  child." 

She  paused,  her  eyes  darkening  with  a  reminiscent 
shadow,  her  face  paling  with  some  memory  of  the 
past. 

"  It  seems  strange  to  me  at  this  moment,"  she  con- 
tinued in  a  low  tone,  seemingly  more  to  herself  than 
to  me,  "  this  home  in  a  far  country,  so  far,  so  many 
miles  from  France.  It  is  years  since  we  left  her 
shores,  la  belle  France,  and  yet  I  can  close  my  eyes 
and  see,  though  I  was  little,  every  detail  of  that  last 
night  in  Paris,  the  suspense  and  agony  of  it,  and  feel 
it  all  again.  How,  for  so  many  awful  days  the  Ter- 
ror had  racked  and  rent  the  city ;  the  horrible,  cruel 
faces  that  flamed  with  the  blood  lust;  the  trampling 
feet  that  wallowed,  the  gutters  that  ran  with  it.  At 
the  first,  being  only  a  child,  I  did  not  understand  it. 
I  could  at  times  see  the  mad  crowds  and  hear  fierce 
outcries  in  the  streets  from  the  convent  windows,  but 
the  good  sisters  would  lead  me  away  and  would  tell 


52    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

me  nothing.  I  wondered  and  was  fearful,  of  what  I 
did  not  know.  Then  one  day  I  heard  my  guardians 
talking  among  themselves  and  I  learned  the  fearful 
truth.  I  knew  at  last  of  the  frightful  Thing,  and 
young  though  I  was,  my  blood  seemed  to  turn  to  ice 
within  me.  Then  to  my  horror  they  spoke  of  my 
father,  of  the  danger  that  threatened  him  through 
his  connection  with  the  court.  They  spoke  of  him  in 
hiding,  a  fugitive  with  a  price  upon  his  head,  the  head 
they  had  fated  for  the  axe." 

She  paused.  Hardly  conscious  of  my  action,  my 
hand  touched  hers  and  dropped  again.  She  did  not 
notice.  The  low  voice  went  on. 

"  I  burst  upon  them  with  tears  and  sobs,  with  wild 
cries  for  my  father.  There  was  consternation  in  their 
white  faces ;  they  raised  and  tried  to  comfort  me,  but 
I  was  like  one  distraught.  The  remembrance  of  the 
next  three  days  is  terrible  to  me.  They  seem  like 
an  evil  dream.  I  moved  about  mechanically,  with 
strained  eyes  watching  for  I  knew  not  what.  The 
coils  of  the  Terror  were  tightening  about  me.  They 
said,  les  bonnes  soeurs, '  She  is  grieving  out  her  life.'  I 
heard  but  could  not  understand.  Every  sense  was 
locked  in  that  terrible  loneliness.  There  was  not  a 
living  creature  within  ages  of  me.  The  loneliness  beat 
and  throbbed  about  me ;  it  was  like  a  vast,  intangible 
wall,  against  which  I  might  beat  my  childish  hands 
in  vain  forever.  It  was  like  a  poor  wretch  dying  in 
the  desert,  surrounded  by  interminable  sands." 

Again  she  paused.  She  seemed  to  have  been  living 
over  the  dread  ordeal.  Then  she  resumed,  a  glad  new 
note  in  her  voice. 

"  At  last  they  came  to  me  with  joyful  faces.  They 
told  me  they  had  heard  from  him,  that  he  was  safe. 
He  was  to  come  for  me  that  very  night  by  stealth  j 


MY  DREAM  LADY  53 

I  was  to  be  ready  to  meet  him  and  we  were  to  go 
together  far  from  the  Terror,  to  peace  and  safety.  I 
fell  on  my  little  knees  and  thanked  the  Virgin  and  my 
Lord ;  I  thanked  my  dead  mother,  who  had  watched 
over  my  father  and  sent  him  safe  to  me.  They  cried 
over  me,  those  Christian  women;  they  pressed  food 
upon  me  and  I  ate  like  a  little  ravenous  animal,  for 
I  was  famished.  The  night  came,  pitchy  black.  When 
they  led  me  to  the  gate  it  was  so  dark  that  I  could 
not  see  him,  but  I  knew  the  clasp  of  his  dear  arms 
and  felt  his  tears  on  my  face.  I  nestled  close  to  him, 
and,  with  me  hugged  tightly  against  his  breast,  he 
hastened  away.  And  we  are  here,"  she  concluded, 
"in  your  land  of  liberty,  m'sieur,  in  solitude  surely, 
but  a  solitude  that  is  safety  and  where  there  is 
peace." 

It  had  grown  very  still.  The  breath  of  the  breeze 
in  the  trees  above  us  had  ceased.  The  warm  sun,  for 
it  was  near  to  noon,  emerging  from  behind  an  ob- 
scuring cloud,  golwed  upon  us,  boldly  blazoning  the 
glory  of  the  leaves.  The  beams  glorified  the  girl's 
gold-brown  hair.  The  hound,  with  placid  satisfaction, 
turned  upon  his  back,  and  with  muzzle  aspiring 
heavenward  gaped  with  pleasant  inertia. 

Renee  sat  in  reverie,  gazing  far  beyond  the  horizon, 
viewing  the  blue  of  other  skies.  I  said  nothing  but 
watched  her  wistfully.  Presently  she  turned  to  me. 

"  And  now,  mon  ami,  you  know  why  we  are  here," 
she  said.  "  I  knew  it  must  seem  strange  to  you,  but 
those  were  troublous  times  and  they  were  fortunate 
who  escaped  with  their  lives,  wherever  fate  left  them. 
As  for  us,  we  love  your  country,  for  she  at  least 
grants  us  the  right  to  live.  Tyranny  and  oppression 
are  hateful  to  her  and  the  mob  does  not  rule.  Be- 
lieve me,  m'sieur,  we  are  quite  Americans,  my  father 


54  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

and  I,  je  vous  assure.  And  in  this  coming  struggle, 
in  which  you  and  your  good  friend,  M'sieur  Godfrey, 
will  engage,  you  may  count  upon  the  support  of  that 
portion  of  the  French  nation,  as  represented  by  us, 
who  have  been  happily  of  some  service  to  yourself." 

I  bowed.  "The  nation  may  well  be  proud  of  its 
allies,"  I  said  warmly.  "  So,  mam'selle,  allow  me  to 
make  the  national  acknowledgements." 

"Je  vous  remercie!"  she  laughed,  with  a  sweeping 
curtsey.  "Though  I  fear  you  rashly  assume  too 
great  a  responsibility.  But  listen,"  for  a  prolonged 
halloo  boomed  from  the  direction  of  the  cabin.  The 
hound  was  up  in  a  flash,  leaving  us. 

I  arose  with  a  sigh.  "  It  is  Godfrey's  voice,"  I  said 
with  resignation.  "We  must  be  off,  mam'selle, 
though  I  like  it  not.  I  would  I  might  encounter 
another  panther." 

She  shook  her  head.  "Non,  non,  monsieur!"  she 
cried,  with  a  provoking  smile,  "  I  have  not  my  rifle 
with  me,  and  as  for  yours,  I  fear  you  would  forget 
its  mission. 

I  accepted  the  gibe  with  humility.  "Your  tongue 
is  a  sharp  sword,  mam'selle,"  I  said,  "but  the  case 
requires  a  heroic  remedy.  I  deserve  it." 

We  returned  by  the  winding  path,  the  girl  tripping 
swiftly  before  me,  leaping  lightly  over  obstructions 
with  her  fawn's  grace,  assailing  me  with  ceaseless 
banter.  My  spirits  sank  lower;  she  did  not  deign 
sorrow  at  the  parting.  Fool!  what  had  I  expected? 

Godfrey  was  at  the  cabin,  the  dog  at  his  feet,  talk- 
ing with  M.  De  Montefort.  All  was  in  readiness. 
Our  packs  were  on  the  porch. 

"I  have  been  telling  your  father,  mademoiselle," 
said  John,  as  the  girl  and  myself  reached  them,  "  of 
my  fears  for  the  future.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that 


MY  DREAM  LADY  55 

the  Indian  I  killed  the  day  I  came  was  a  spy,  a  more 
or  less  accredited  ally  of  the  British-Canadian  govern- 
ment. I  know  it,  and  am  confident  that  others  were 
not  far  away  at  the  time.  This  frontier  will  be  of 
great  importance  when  the  war  arrives,  and  you  may 
depend  upon  the  British  giving  it  much  attention. 
Spies,  both  red  and  white,  are  constantly  working  on 
this  side  already  to  secure  news  of  resources,  and  the 
strength,  or  rather  weakness,  of  the  population  and 
present  defences  for  the  edification  of  their  masters, 
who  are  wisely  taking  time  by  the  forelock.  Some  of 
them,"  he  continued  dryly,  "  are  trying  to  reduce  the 
fighting  strength  by  anticipatory  tactics,"  and  he 
glanced  quizzically  at  M.  De  Montefort.  "  So  I  have 
been  warning  your  father,  mam'selle,"  he  concluded 
earnestly,  "that  this  place  will  not  be  secure  much 
longer.  I  think  you  should  both  plan  to  come  ere 
long  to  Watertown  or  Sackets  Harbor,  where  you 
will  be  safe." 

The  old  Frenchman  slowly  shook  his  head.  "  I 
think,  m'sieur,  that  we  will  be  safe  here  for  a  while 
longer,"  he  said  slowly,  "though  I  thank  you  for 
your  consideration.  Later,  if  I  find  it  necessary,  I 
will  act  as  you  recommend."  And  with  this  we  had 
to  be  content. 

We  were  soon  ready.  After  a  light  repast  we  shoul- 
dered our  packs,  and  with  rifles  bearing  them  com- 
pany, took  leave  of  our  friends  and  strode  away  into 
the  forest,  the  hound  sniffing  at  our  heels.  At  the 
edge  of  the  little  clearing  we  looked  back.  The  old 
Frenchman  waved  his  adieux  and  in  Renee's  little 
hand  a  handkerchief  fluttered.  I  swung  my  hat  in 
final  farewell  and  the  forest  swallowed  us. 


CHAPTER  VII 
The  Cast  of  the  Die 

There  were  many  visitors  at  Sackets  Harbor  that 
winter.  Strangers  of  distinguished  bearing,  secret 
agents,  men  on  various  errands  came  to  confer  mys- 
teriously with  the  military  powers  that  were.  There 
was  a  feeling  that  the  crucial  moment  inevitably  ap- 
proached. Strained  eyes  often  turned  toward  the 
north,  where,  long  miles  across  Ontario's  waters, 
Frontenac  was  emerged  in  sullen  preparation.  The 
hamlet  at  the  Harbor,  insignificant  enough,  God 
knows,  to  be  obliged  to  pursue  the  arts  of  peace  un- 
hampered, was  of  grim  necessity  designed  to  become 
an  important  strategic  point  and  seat  of  war,  for  she 
commanded  Ontario's  waters  from  the  south  and  was 
to  dispute  with  Frontenac  the  question  of  their 
supremacy. 

It  was  in  November  that  John  and  I  arrived  at  the 
Harbor,  but  the  winter  wore  away  quickly  enough, 
for  in  work  we  forgot  the  drifts  and  desolation.  Ex- 
pedients for  defence  were  sown  that  winter,  budding 
in  the  spring  and  flowering  that  summer  and  there- 
after in  the  shape  of  log  barracks,  cantonments, 
forts,  storehouses  and  blockhouses  in  plenty.  The 
little  village  of  seventy  families  was  being  trans- 
formed into  a  military  headquarters  for  several  thou- 
sand troops. 

The  hamlet  presented  a  martial  appearance  that 


THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE  57 

was  indeed  stirring  in  those  troublous  days.  It 
fairly  bristled  with  war  like  bustle.  Originally  designed 
for  peace  and  a  snug  lake  commerce,  strange  days 
had  come  to  it,  days  across  which  fell  the  ominous 
shadows  of  unknown  to-morrows.  Nature  assisted  in 
its  defence.  Up  to  the  very  portals  of  the  forlorn 
little  houses  there  stretched  from  the  south  the  forest, 
affording  an  inexhaustible  building  fund  for  fleets  and 
land  defences.  In  front  of  the  clearing  where  the 
hamlet  stood  there  rolled  a  broad  plateau,  termi- 
nating abruptly  in  a  high,  lofty  bluff,  at  the  foot  of 
which  the  waves  of  Ontario  beat  incessantly.  This 
wall  faced  the  broad  Kahuahgo  bay,  commanding  any 
possible  position  that  could  be  taken  by  a  hostile 
fleet  and  forming  in  itself  an  almost  impregnable 
breastwork.  The  harbor  lay  to  the  eastward,  be- 
hind the  bluff,  while  the  bay  stretched  its  long  arm 
back  a  half  dozen  miles  to  Fish  Island,  where  the 
foaming  Kahuahgo,  wearied  from  its  turbulent  journey 
from  the  distant  Adirondacks,  mingled  its  waters 
with  those  of  the  mighty  lake.  A  long,  low  point  of 
land,  running  out  into  the  harbor  near  its  entrance, 
was  used  as  a  site  for  a  dockyard,  being  christened 
Shiphouse  Point.  Here  Ontario's  navy,  which  was 
destined  to  indulge  in  more  display  than  actual  ex- 
ercise of  power,  was  built.  A  fort,  with  blockhouses 
and  batteries,  was  already  in  preparation  for  the 
protection  of  this  point. 

Now  the  rigorous  winter  had  gone,  the  spring  been 
gathered  to  its  innumerable  forbears,  and  the  early 
summer  arrived,  with  air  pregnant  with  thrilling  pre- 
monition. The  gaunt  shadow  of  war  stole  nearer  and 
the  people  blanched  though  they  were  not  dismayed. 
All  along  the  Ontario  and  St.  Lawrence  frontier, 
from  Oswego  to  Ogdensburgh,  they  were  preparing. 


58    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

As  it  happened,  John's  efforts  and  mine  had  been 
rewarded  with  militia  captaincies,  John's  through 
proved  abilities,  mine  through  good  fortune  in  being 
the  son  of  my  father,  General  Zebulon  Warburton. 
Of  the  honors  attached  to  his  name  I  need  not  speak ; 
his  deeds  and  the  record  of  them  are  interwoven  with 
Revolutionary  annals.  Just  now  John's  command 
and  mine  were  but  indifferent  handfuls  of  raw,  timor- 
ous rascals,  gathered  from  hither  and  yon  at  divers 
times  during  the  embargo  for  service  at  the  Harbor, 
which  was  an  important  port  of  entry.  Worthless 
wretches  they  mostly  were,  useless  idlers  picked  up 
here  and  there  because  too  shiftless  to  embrace  honest 
labor,  and  whose  desertion  from  embattled  ranks 
usually  occurred  simultaneously  with  the  smell  of 
powder.  So  our  commands  were  not  then  the  source 
of  overweening  pride  to  us,  but  we  know  that  once 
the  call  to  arms  was  sounded  there  would  spring  up 
from  end  to  end  of  the  sparsely  settled  frontier  the 
solid  yeomenry,  men  with  blood  as  crimson  as  the 
British  coats.  Indeed,  numbers  of  them  were  already 
appearing  to  volunteer  for  the  militia  services  and 
be  licked  into  shape  by  those  of  us  who  had  those 
rather  arduous  duties  in  charge.  And  so  we  waited 
in  confidence. 

Swiftly  the  days  drew  to  the  awakening.  To  this 
tiny  village  that  sprawled  at  the  very  feet  of  a  vast 
wilderness,  crowding  upon  flank  and  rear,  a  thick 
stubble  of  beard  upon  the  face  of  a  nation  that  was 
alike  a  stripling  and  a  giant;  to  this  tiny  dot  upon 
the  nation's  northern  edge  was  reserved  the  glorious 
privilege  of  firing  the  first  gun  in  a  war  that  was  to 
be  waged  for  simple  rights  and  human  liberty.  So 
the  little  port,  pitifully  small  and  seemingly  inade- 
quate,—guarded  but  by  crude  earthworks,  forts  of 


THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE  59 

logs  with  the  bark  still  green  upon  them  and  a 
grotesque  armament, — looked  undismayed  to  the 
northward  across  the  deep — and  waited. 

Antiquated  and  insufficient  indeed  seemed  her  de- 
fences till  you  looked  at  the  men  who  manned  them. 
The  color  of  the  blood  that  coursed  beneath  their 
homespun  jackets  will  not  be  impugned  by  those 
British  friends  with  whom  I  have  fought  and  drunk 
and  taken  pot-luck.  And  whether  those  compatriots 
of  mine  stood  behind  the  hoary  cannon  that  was  all 
they  had,  or  whether  a  hawk  eye  sighted  along  the 
barrel  of  a  rifle  or  venerable  musket,  grim  death 
leaped  from  the  muzzles,  for  not  in  all  the  world  did 
there  live  such  marksmen. 

John  and  I  stood  on  the  bluff  looking  out  upon 
the  lake  at  the  close  of  a  warm  June  day,  a  day  that 
had  been  melodious  with  birds  and  glowing  with  the 
green  of  the  life-filled  summer.    The  sun  had  looked 
down  at  the  scene  of  unparalleled  activity  in  the  little 
town,  smiling  widely  upon  the  tiny  human  parasites, 
toiling  like  ants,  the   ticktacking   of  the   hammers 
sounding  faintly  in  the  luminary's  distant  ears.    But 
with   the   coming   of  the  twilight  a  hush  brooded, 
broken  only  by  the  weird  note  of  the  whippoorwill, 
the  muffled  bellowings  of  the  frogs  in  the  surround- 
ing marshes,  the  lapping  of  the  waves  in  eternal  mys- 
tery upon  the  rocky  shores.    And  after  a  while  the 
white  moon  rose  in  the  heavens,  silvering  the  waters, 
looking  down  inscrutably  in  the  midst  of  her  retinue 
of  winking  stars.    Afar   in  the    waters   lay  islands 
like   muffled   darkness,    ominous    distant    shadows, 
sinister   and   silent.     And  now  suddenly  a  mass  of 
black  night  clouds  rolled  down  from  the  north,  blot- 
ting out  the  light, of  the  moon  and  the  winking  stars, 
gathering  in  crude,  cyclonic  shapes ;   creeping  toward 


60  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

us  and  reaching  out;  clutching  like  monstrous 
hands. 

John,  lying  at  ease  upon  an  elbow  in  the  grass, 
stretched  out  his  free  hand  toward  them.  "The 
menace  in  the  skies,  Gilbert,"  he  said  soberly,  "the 
colossal  hand  from  the  north— a  gloomy  portent." 

He  jumped  to  his  feet,  stretching  his  splendid 
length  vigorously.  "It  has  been  a  hard  day,"  said 
he.  "  Let  us  ride  to  Watertown.  There  is  an  electric 
quality  in  the  air  that  demands  action.  Besides,  I 
have  a  desire  to  gather  with  the  habitats  of  VVhar- 
tin's  tap  room." 

I  arose  with  alacrity  and  we  left  to  saddle  our 
horses.  We  were  soon  in  motion.  The  good  hoofs 
of  the  animals  rang  sharply  on  the  hard  road.  Occa- 
sionally the  spiteful  sparks  flew  from  a  spurned  stone, 
flung  to  one  side  by  impatient  heels.  The  brutes, 
revelling  in  exercise  unwonted  of  late,  carried  us  the 
dozen  miles  from  the  Harbor  in  brief  time.  We 
mounted  the  summit  of  a  hill  and  saw  below  us,  now 
but  a  mile  away,  the  lights  of  Watertown  village, 
sprawling  in  the  Kahuahgo  valley,  the  buildings  strag- 
gling like  toys  in  the  clearing  that  cleft  the  sur- 
rounding forest,  indistinct  in  the  shadows  save  for 
the  little  flickering  flames  that  wavered  in  the  gloom. 

Overhead  there  drove  a  mass  of  clouds,  crushing 
one  upon  the  other,  sweeping  to  the  south.  Occa- 
sionally the  dark  hurrying  masses  were  split  asunder 
and  the  silver  of  the  June  moon  streamed  through 
in  a  white  flood,  only  to  be  shrouded  the  next 
moment  by  the  driving  gloom.  A  strong,  soft  wind 
surged  from  the  lake,  insistently,  without  respite, 
billowing  our  cloaks  to  our  backs  and  fretting  the 
spirits  of  our  horses,  who  longed  to  stretch  them- 
selves in  a  punishing  gallop.  To  their  disgust,  how- 


THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE  61 

ever,  we  pulled  them  from  a  sharp  trot  into  an 
unwilling  walk  when  we  had  come  in  sight  of  the 
village  lights.  We  had  journeyed  at  a  sharp  pace 
and  desired  to  spell  them. 

Fireflies  gleamed  in  the  thick  grass  which  fringed 
the  roadway.  The  thickets  stirred  with  nocturnal  life. 
We  descended  the  hill  into  the  shadows.  The  wind 
winged  through  the  overhanging  branches,  muttering 
weirdly,  stirring  the  new  green  leaves.  From  a  distant 
marsh  there  sounded  the  croaks  of  pessimistic  frogs. 

John  rode  ahead,  his  giant  figure  looming  indis- 
tinctly in  the  gloom.  He  sat  his  beast  with  rare 
grace,  for  his  horsemanship  was  irreproachable  and 
he  had  demonstrated  his  skill  by  mastering  some 
ugly  brutes  at  the  post. 

"There's  a  big  swashing  in  the  lake  just  now,"  he 
observed,  reining  in  his  horse,  which  had  shied  at 
nothing  in  particular. 

"From  the  looks,"  said  I,  ruefully  regarding  the 
sky,  "  we  are  liable  to  do  considerable  swashing  our- 
selves when  we  go  back." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  he  replied.  "I  guess  this  is 
only  a  whisk  of  wind." 

We  rode  in  silence  for  a  moment.  "John,"  said  I 
suddenly,  "theti^  has  come  when  M.  De  Montefort 
and  his  daughter  should  leave  the  Deer  River  cabin." 

He  glanced  around  at  me.  "True,"  he  answered. 
"The  scattered  settlements,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
solitary  cabins,  are  not  safe  now.  War  may  be  de- 
clared any  day," 

"  It  is  strange,"  I  continued  with  irritation,  "  that 
M.  De  Montefort  will  not  consent  to  leave  there.  You 
remember  how  little  satisfaction  Matison  secured  when 
he  stopped  there  with  our  urgent  message  in  March." 

Godfrey  laughed  quietly.    "  The  old  gentleman  will 


62  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

have  to  be  convinced  by  heroic  means,"  he  said.  "  I 
shall  have  to  go  there  and  drag  him  away." 

I  said  nothing  more,  but  was  troubled.  Three 
months  previously  Godfrey  and  I  had  chanced  to 
encounter  a  trapper,  one  Matison,  on  his  way  on  snow 
shoes  from  western  New  York  into  the  Adirondacks. 
By  him  we  had  sent  word  to  M.  De  Montefort  of 
the  desirability  of  removal.  If  possible  Matison  was 
to  send  us  word  of  the  Frenchman's  reception  of  the 
warning.  Such  word  had  reached  us  a  few  weeks 
later  by  a  friendly  Indian  whom  Matison  had  met, 
that  the  Frenchman  thought  the  "  need  was  not  yet." 
I  ground  my  teeth,  while  John,  being  more  philo' 
sophic,  showed  his  in  a  smile  of  resignation. 

As  for  me,  Renee  was  with  me  in  vivid  memory  all 
through  the  dreary  winter  that  she  hated.  I  thought 
this  night,  as  we  soberly  jogged  along,  of  the  fra- 
grant summer,  with  a  glad  light  in  my  eyes.  She 
was  greeting  it,  I  know,  with  gladness,  for  she  loved 
it.  Her  eyes  grew  tender  these  balmy  days  as  they 
watched  the  green  leaves;  the  soft  air  freshly  won- 
derful, mantled  her  round  cheek  and  stirred  in  her 
brown-gold  hair ;  she  walked  by  the  winding  trail  to 
the  brawling  little  stream  and  called.  There  was  the 
soft  beating  of  wings  and  the  birds  came  to  her ;  I 
could  catch  only  tantalizing  glimpses  of  her  white 
hands  .and  laughing  lips  for  the  whirling  cloud  that 
billowed  about  her.  Now  it  rose,  now  settled ;  finally, 
the  last  crumb  gone,  soaring  upward  and  disappear- 
ing over  the  forest.  Then  she  stood  before  me,  her 
feathered  court  vanished,  the  sheen  of  the  sky  and 
sea  in  her  sweet  eyes,  her  proud  lips  curving  in  a  ten- 
der smile.  I  drew  closer,  she  did  not  shrink  away. 
My  arms  that  had  so  long  been  empty  stretched  out 
for  her,— and  she— 


THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE  63 

"  Come,  come,  Gilbert,  what  are  you  dreaming 
about?"  broke  in  John's  quizzical  tones.  "Are  you 
a  sleep  rider?" 

I  came  to  with  a  violent  start,  gazing  about  me 
for  a  moment  in  bewilderment.  Several  villagers, 
loafing  at  ease  in  front  of  the  lighted  tavern,  grinned 
at  me.  We  were  close  to  the  broad  plaza.  I  alighted, 
feeling  rather  foolish  and  conscious  of  a  vague  sense 
of  unreality,  my  mind-picture  had  been  so  vivid. 

We  threw  the  bridles  to  a  stableman,  who  led  the 
sweating  horses  away.  We  passed  into  the  tavern, 
from  which  came  a  hoarse  din  of  voices.  As  we  en- 
tered there  was  a  slight  pause.  Many  pairs  of  eyes 
were  turned  inquiringly  upon  us;  some  rough  hands 
went  upward  in  uncouth  salutes. 

Mine  host  Wharton,  Nehemiah  Wharton,  stubby, 
chubby  and  with  a  bald  spot,  came  bustling  up, 
radiating  hospitality. 

"Ah,  gentlemen,  captains,"  he  whirred,  for  he  had 
a  distressing  bronchial  affection,  "I'm  joyed  to  see 
ye !  Rode  from  the  Harbor,  eh  ?  Breezy  jaunt,  I'll 
warrant  ye!  How're  things  at  the  port?  Wot' 11  it 
be,  wot'll  it  be  ?" 

We  told  him  and  were  speedily  immersed  in  foaming 
tankards  of  his  good  ale.  Refreshed,  gusts  of  the 
general  conversation  caught  our  ears. 

They  were  talking  of  an  event  which  had  occurred 
only  a  few  days  before  at  the  Harbor.  The  Lord 
Nelson,  a  British  schooner  bound  for  Niagara  from 
Frontenac,  being  found  in  American  waters,  had 
been  captured  by  Captain  Woolsey,  in  command  of 
a  lake  vessel.  She  was  brought  into  the  Harbor 
and  condemned  as  a  lawful  prize.  Among  the  cap- 
tured goods  there  was  a  number  of  the  belongings 
of  a  Queenstown  bride  who  was  on  board  with  her 


64    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

husband,  the  pair  experiencing  their  honeymoon. 
Captain  Woolsey  gallantly  offered  to  restore  these 
effects.  His  sailors  gave  up  their  claims,  but  others, 
callous  to  the  tears  of  the  fair,  refused  to  do  so  and 
raised  the  bids  at  the  time  of  sale  to  five  hundred 
dollars.  Glowing  with  a  gallant  and  righteous  wrath, 
Woolsey,  who  in  his  indignation  thought  he  could 
afford  it,  raised  the  bid  for  that  particular  parcel  of 
the  booty  to  five  thousand  at  one  jump,  thoroughly 
chagrining  the  covetous  and  bringing  the  matter  to 
a  sudden  close.  The  government  afterward  discharged 
him  from  the  obligation  he  had  incurred,  but,  just 
at  this  time,  he  expected  to  have  to  pay  it.  This 
was  the  matter  of  discussion  in  the  tavern.  Opinions 
were  mostly  in  Woolsey's  favor,  but  there  were  some 
few  Philistines. 

The  voice  of  one  such  was  raised  querulously  at 
this  moment,  rasping  like  rusty  hinges.  Old  Cyrenus 
Bantwell,  munching  tobacco,  spoke  and  expectorated. 

"This  damn  Woolsey,"  he  snarled,  inundating  the 
fireplace,  "is  a  damn  ass,  a  lop-eared  ass!  What 
business  has  the  damn  fool  got  to  be  interferin'  with 
the  people's  pickin's  ?  Ain't  we  the  people,  say,  ain't 
we  now,  and  ain't  all  the  pickin's  our'n  ?  And  here's 
this  fool,  this  damn  freshwater  fool,  goes  and  gives 
them  pickin's— them  pickin's  that  are  our'n,  I  tell 
ye — he  goes  and  gives  'em  back  to  fool  women!" 
And  he  drowned  the  andirons  in  unspeakable  dis- 
gust. 

"Yes,"  said  a  ruminative  youth,  who  sat  near, 
with  timid  logic,  "but  the  woman  owned  'em." 

"What!"  squealed  Cyrenus,  sitting  bolt  upright, 
his  eyes  bulging.  "Who  owned  'em?  The  woman 
didn't  own  'em,  ye  pale  faced  pill,  'twas  the  people ! 
'Twas  us  that  owned  'em!  They  were  our  pickin's! 


THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE  65 

G'lang  with  ye !  Don't  argy  with  an  old  man  that 
might  be  yer  gran'ther,  but  ain't,  thank  God!" 

The  youth,  very  red,  muttered  an  echo  of  the 
thanksgiving,  but  it  escaped  Cyrenus  and  the  boy 
was  spared  the  emptying  of  more  vials  of  wrath 
upon  his  luckless  head.  The  old  man  spat  and  sput- 
tered, damning  Woolsey  beyond  redemption  and  glar- 
ing about  with  his  twinkling,  vicious,  little  eyes, 
seeking  another  disputant.  They  all  hawked  ner- 
vously, eyeing  him  askance.  His  tongue  was  terrible, 
it  maddened  them,  but  he  was  venerable ;  they  might 
not  thrash  him.  They  must  endure;  some  day  he 
would  die. 

"What's  this  hell's  talk?"  he  barked,  scorching  his 
mates  with  angry  eyes.  "  What's  this  fool's  gibber 
of  fighting  England?  Who's  talkin'  it?  Congress, 
cursed  fools !  Bah,  brains  was  never  in  'em ;  not  in 
a  mother's  son  of  'em !  When  they  was  born  their 
heads  went  beggin'.  God  Almighty  never  did  any- 
thin'  for  'em  and  now  the  country  can't !  But  they're 
doin'  for  the  country,  curse  'em !  They're  ijits,  ijits 
all !  They're  drivellin'  about  rights,  their  rights 
and  your'n !  Rights !  You  ain't  got  no  rights ! 
Rights  belong  to  them  what  has  the  fists  to  back 
'em  with,  and  that's  England,  that  is !  O,  yuh  can 
squirm,  but  I  tell  ye  yuh  get  too  sassy,  ye'll  feel 
the  fists,  ha  ha!  you  hear,  ye'll  feel  'em!"  He 
chuckled  with  tipsy  laughter. 

Listening  to  the  spiteful  venom,  I  felt  a  savage 
desire  to  knock  out  the  little  wretch's  teeth  and 
render  him  fangless.  I  knew  my  wish  was  shared 
by  nearly  every  man  present,  but  Cyrenus  was  old. 
That  fact  had  saved  him  oftentimes;  yea,  from  the 
beginning. 

He    had    come    with    the   first    of   them,    at   the 


66    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

beginning  of  the  century,  from  where,  no  man  knew. 
He  was  bitter  morose,  and,  in  the  daytime,  a  recluse. 
He  seemed  to  enjoy  some  obscure  income,  for  he 
toiled  not.  An  humble  hut,  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
village,  held  him  during  his  days,  when  he  was  usually 
sleeping  off  the  effects  of  his  nights,  which  were 
invariably  spent  in  the  tavern.  For  hateful  as  he 
was  to  others,  and  they  to  him,  the  little  Ishmaelite 
appeared  to  find  an  incomprehensible  pleasure  in  the 
company  of  his  fellows,  which  they  cordially  failed 
to  appreciate,  likewise  to  reciprocate.  He  would 
enter  the  tap  room,  his  shred  of  a  figure  and  wizened 
face  imparting  to  those  gathered  there  all  the  enliven- 
ing cheer  of  a  funeral,  and,  taking  a  seat  apart, 
would  cease  to  eat  tobacco  just  long  enough  to 
call  for  grog.  He  sat  taciturn  till  it  was  brought 
and  more  after  it.  Then,  when  successive  swallows 
had  loosened  his  vile  tongue,  he  was  wont  to  wag 
the  member,  interspersing  its  drippings  of  gall  and 
vinegar  with  strange  oaths,  munchings  and  shrill 
calls  for  more  grog.  So  it  would  continue  till  the 
tavern  was  closed  and  Cyrenus  made  shift,  somehow, 
to  wobble  homeward. 

Ordinarily  no  one  dared  answer  Cyrenus'  remarks 
because  he  was  Cyrenus.  But  his  impugning  of  the 
Yankee  fighting  qualities  created  an  indignant  stir 
in  the  room.  Cyrenus  was  laughing  silently  and 
rubbing  his  claws. 

"  Huh,"  he  snickered,  "  to  think  of  the  lickin'  you'll 
get  if  ye  don't  sing  small  before  long !  The  redcoats 
'11  teach  ye!" 

Then  arose  a  voice,  ponderous  with  passion;  the 
voice  of  Noadiah  Swanson,  gallant  veteran,  honorable 
survivor  of  the  Revolution. 

"Tickles  ye,  don't  it,  ye  little  whiffet!"  he  sneered, 


THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE  67 

with  a  look  of  withering  contempt  at  the  suddenly 
silent  Cyrenus.  "Look  at  ye,  though,  with  yer  face 
like  a  plate  of  cold  vittles,  all  creased  and  crinklin', 
grinnin'  like  a  baked  skunk  because  you  think  the 
country  is  in  danger !  If  ye  hadn't  a  head  like  a 
horseblock,  ye'd  know  that  one  good  Yankee  is  good 
for  ten  redcoats,  but  yer  old  fool  tongue  has  been 
runnin'  here  like  sap  is  in  April,  only  your  sap  is 
all  sour  milk  and  you  don't  know  nothin' !  Damme 
if  I  would'nt  like  to  kick  a  man  who  will  talk  like 
you  do,  and  I  would,  only  you  ain't  a  man!" 

Cyrenus  sat  bolt  upright,  his  jaw  sagging,  his 
lean  face  agape.  The  room  was  aghast.  Never  be- 
fore had  this  happened.  Cyrenus'  tongue  had  been 
regarded  with  a  superstitious  awe.  Noadiah  had 
invited  the  thunderbolt.  There  was  an  intense  silence. 

By  and  by  Cyrenus  spoke.  The  words  rattled  in 
his  dry  throat.  They  were  addressed  to  the  land- 
lord. 

"  Bring  me  grog,"  he  said. 

He  sipped  it  in  silence,  his  old  face,  with  its  thin 
patches  of  gray  whisker,  blank  with  ludicrous  amaze- 
ment. The  words  of  Noadiah  had  struck  him  like 
stones;  he  was  undone.  He  grogged  mechanically, 
trying  weakly  to  comprehend.  An  air  of  relief  filled 
the  room ;  an  oppressive  something  rose  and  winged 
away.  A  tongued  tyranny  had  been  defied,  an  evil 
spell  of  years  been  broken.  Noadiah  was  a  public 
benefactor. 

The  hum  of  conversation  was  resumed.  They 
viewed  askance  the  huddled  little  figure  sitting  apart 
near  the  fireplace,  or  forgot  it  utterly.  As  for  him, 
he  sat  motionless,  his  grog  now  hardly  tasted.  He 
seemed  too  crushed  even  to  masticate  his  tobacco; 
his  jaws  idled.  The  little  eyes  were  oddly  filmy, 


68   THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

and  staring  strangely— back  somewhere,  into  the 
shadows. 

"It's  got  to  come,  boys,"  said  Israel  Thornton, 
addressing  the  roomful  indiscriminately.  "  We've 
stood  too  much  already,  and  when  they  keep  on 
impressin'  our  seamen,  spite  of  all  protests,  I  tell 
ye  it's  time  the  eagle  squawked!  Congress  is  apt 
to  declare  war  most  any  day  now,  and  these  gentle- 
men," turning  to  John  and  I,  "  will  have  all  the 
recrootin'  they  want  in  a  few  weeks.  I'll  state  they 
can  have  me!" 

"That's  the  way  they're  all  talkin',"  put  in  Silas 
Putnam,  to  whose  ear  each  vagrant  breeze  lisped 
its  meed  of  news.  "  They're  feelin'  somethin'  the 
same  at  Ogdensburgh,  only  more  scart-like.  You 
know  General  Jake  Brown  ordered  Colonel  Benedict 
to  raise  a  company,  so  the  colonel  gets  eighty  men 
together  at  DeKalb  and  Massena  and  marches  'em 
to  the  'Burg.  Folks  at  the  'Burg,  ye'll  remember, 
got  purty  sick  of  havin'  troops  devilin'  and  foolin' 
round  there.  When  the  embargo  business  was  on 
in  1809  there  was  Cap'ns  Sam  Cherry  and  Tom 
Anderson  stationed  there  with  a  couple  of  companies 
that  was  the  worst  devils,  I  reckon,  as  ever  sarved 
in  sarvice.  Why,  the  citizens  had  to  hev  night 
patrols  out  to  guard  their  hen  roosts  against  the 
depperdations  of  their  own  sojers.  When  they  was 
removed  the  people  fired  cannons  and  rang  cowbells 
out  of  exceeedin'  joy  at  havin'  'em  go.  Well,  ye  see, 
when  the  company  that  was  raised  by  Colonel  Ben- 
edict marches  into  Ogdensburgh  the  other  day,  the 
people,  rememberin'  so  vivid-like  the  thieves  as  came 
afore  'em,  wasn't  goin'  to  bake  their  bread  for  'em, 
wouldn't  feed  'em !  No  sirree !  The  poor  devils  had 
to  go  hungry  that  night,  and  it  was  only  by  gettin' 


THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE  69 

down  to  right  mean  talk  and  tall  threatenin's  that 
the  officers  could  get  the  villagers  to  show  horsper- 
tality  the  next  day." 

"  Guess  they'll  be  all  right  now,"  observed  Godfrey 
dryly.  "Colonel  Benedict  has,  I  understand,  sent 
to  Adjutant  Church,  who  is  in  charge  of  the  barracks 
at  the  'Burg,  four  barrels  of  pork,  four  axes,  a  fry- 
ing pan  and  a  barrel  of  whiskey." 

"  Too  much  pork,"  pensively  observed  Silas,  whose 
nose  indicated  his  preferences,  "and  one  axe  would 
a'  been  enough  for  the  whiskey."  Summoning  the 
landlord,  he  assuaged  a  thirst  that  never  slumbered, 
save  in  fitful  catnaps. 

The  talk  continued,  growing  more  animated  as 
the  stimulants  inflamed  the  valor  of  the  gallant 
fellows  and  deepened  their  resentment  against  British 
bullying.  Anathemas  were  hurled  at  the  English 
head.  Scorching  curses  leaped  hotly  to  grim  lips  as 
the  burden  of  the  young  nation's  wrongs  found 
universal  voice. 

"  You  think  we  are  in  a  position  to  defend  ourselves 
as  is  proper?"  suddenly  inquired  Noadiah,  turning 
to  John.  All  faces  were  turned  toward  Godfrey,  for 
his  fame  had  reached  them  in  earlier  days  and  per- 
sonal acquaintance  had  heightened  their  cordial 
admiration,  which  was  expressed  in  their  bearing. 

John's  black  eyes  kindled.  "  All  that  is  possible 
is  being  done,"  he  replied.  "With  the  men  of  the 
northern  frontier  to  face,  the  foe  may  well  fear. 
Gentlemen,"  lifting  his  tankard  high  as  he  rose  to 
his  full,  grand  height,  "let  us  drink  to  the  future 
success  of  the  American  arms!" 

They  sprang  to  their  feet  with  a  hoarse  cheer, 
clinking  their  mugs.  Ere  they  had  drained  them 
the  door  was  thrown  open  and  in  rushed  an  excited 


70  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

man,  hatless  and  coatless,  his  eyes  like  pale-blue 
saucers.  "John  Stoddard!"  someone  yelled,  reach- 
ing for  the  dancing  figure. 

"  Hooray  !"  bawled  the  fellow.  "  Let  'em  come  on ; 
droves  of  'em,  armies  of  'em !  We'll  lick  'em,  by 
the  Lord  God!" 

An  excited  circle  surrounded  him,  clutched  at  his 
wavering  arms,  sought  to  understand.  A  babel  of 
voices  dinned  in  the  smoke  laden  room.  Above  the 
tumult  his  voice  rang  out  jubilantly. 

"  Don't  ye  know?"  he  yelled  exultantly.  "  Congress 
has  declared  war!  Brown  just  got  the  message!" 

A  few  moments  more  and  John  and  I  were  astride 
our  horses,  a  dash  of  rain  in  our  faces,  riding  hard 
for  the  Harbor.  There  was  that  welling  within  us 
that  demanded  action. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
The  Recruits 

Ah,  Dorothy,  little  sister,  how  the  years  fly,  like 
wind-blown  birds  at  sea !  The  grass  waves  but  to 
wither ;  the  green  leaf  yellows,  shrivels  and  is  dead ; 
presently  it  drifts  downward  from  the  gaunt,  bare 
bough.  Too  soon  the  red  in  the  cheek  is  blanched  an 
ashy  gray;  the  head  crowned  with  snow;  a  breath 
and  we  who  leave  the  arms  of  earth  return  to  them, 
to  sleep  like  tired  children  while  the  old  world  swings 
round. 

"Ah,  time  and  death,  ye  two  malignant  powers!" 

And  so,  little  sister  of  the  early  time,  do  I,  an  old, 
withered,  wrinkled  leaf,  all  yellowed  and  forlorn,  cling 
still  to  the  gray  bough  while  the  bitter  wind  snarls 
round  me  hungrily.  The  bough  is  almost  bare.  But 
a  few  survivors  of  the  summer  time  remain,  keeping 
lonely  vigil.  One  by  one,  torn  from  their  trembling 
hold  by  the  destroying  blast,  they  flutter  down  to 
the  sodden  mound  of  their  fellows  below.  And  pres- 
ently a  final  merry  gust  will  blow  and  I,  too,  shall 
be  whisked  away  to  join  them.  But  till  then,  though 
the  wind  be  cold  and  I  shiver  and  crackle  in  every 
fibre  with  its  chill,  the  old  heart  of  me  yet  will  warm 
with  the  memories  of  my  summer  time.  And  of  all 
these  memories,  what  more  gracious,  little  sister, 
than  that  of  you  ?  You  who  suffered  and  endured ! 

While  I  write  I  glance  out  from  the  porch  over  the 


72    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

broad  acres  that  are  mine,  nor  see  them,  for  my  dim 
old  eyes,  with  the  crowsfeet  at  their  corners,  behold 
at  this  moment  only  Dorothy  as  she  was  that  June 
morning.  Our  house,  a  rather  pretentious  mansion 
for  those  days,  though  seeming  humble  enough  now, 
stood  a  short  distance  back  from  the  bluff,  facing 
the  rippling  bay.  The  sun  rode  high  when  I  awoke 
that  morning,  as  I  had  overslept  after  a  hard  day's 
work.  Hastily  tubbing,  I  dressed  and  descended  to 
the  living  room.  There  sounded  the  soft  rustle  of  a 
gown  and  Dorothy  entered,  fresh  from  the  oversight 
of  the  maids  in  the  kitchen.  Her  eyes  were  bright, 
her  cheeks  flushed.  I  pinched  them. 

"Naughty  boy!"  she  exclaimed.  "I've  called  you 
three  times.  Great,  lazy  Gillie!" 

"Never  heard  you!"  I  remonstrated.  "And,  too, 
will  you  please  to  forget  that  atrocious  nickname? 
Gillie!"  I  groaned  in  unspeakable  disgust.  I  hated 
that  pseudonym,  for  which  reason  she  loved  it.  Sis- 
ters have  such  privileges. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  she  gibed, 
with  a  swoop  of  small  fingers  at  my  hair.  I  held  her 
at  arm's  length.  "  I'm  nearly  your  height  and  I  can 
lay  you  out!"  she  boasted,  struggling  to  reach  me. 

I  straightened  up  the  squirming  damsel,  who  was 
now  violently  attempting  to  bite  my  restraining 
fingers.  "  You  are  not  dignified,"  I  observed,  adding 
as  a  concession,  "but  you  are  growing  taller." 

"Sure,  I  am,"  she  agreed,  with  an  arch  glance  up 
at  me.  Her  brown  eyes  sparkled,  the  sun  gilded  her 
tawny  hair.  "  You've  only  a  half  head " 

"  Say  a  head  !"  I  commanded,  tightening  my  frater- 
nal hold  upon  her  wrists,  "or  I'll " 

"I  won't!"  she  retorted,  twisting.  "I  tell  you  let 
me  go,  Gillie,  or " 


THE  RECRUITS  73 

"  Say  '  Gilbert,' "  I  growled,  clasping  her  wrists  the 
tighter,  "or  I'll  make  you  slap  your  own  face!" 

A  big  laugh  boomed  from  the  open  doorway.  John 
stood  there,  fresh  from  an  outer  stroll.  I  dropped 
Dorothy's  wrists,  feeling  sheepish  and  rather  young. 

"Hello,  John,"  said  I.  "Didn't  know  you  were 
there."  There  came  a  sounding  box  upon  my  ear  and 
Dorothy  scuttled  for  the  kitchen.  I  rubbed  the  sting- 
ing member  ruefully.  "Little  vixen!"  I  muttered. 
"Pull  her  hair  to  get  even!" 

"  She'll  keep  you  busy,  Gilbert,"  laughed  John.  "  I 
see  she  crimsoned  your  face  somewhat  in  trying  to 
hold  her  still." 

"  People  have  been  telling  her  of  increasing  pretti- 
ness,"  said  I,  "and  she  is  beginning  with  the  arro- 
gance of  her  nineteen  years,  to  take  on  airs.  I  find 
it  difficult  to  keep  her  in  subjection.  Don't  you  think 
she  resembles  me?"  I  inquired  unblushingly. 

He  regarded  me  commiseratingly.  "  I  dislike  to 
blast  your  dream  of  personal  beauty,"  he  answered 
sorrowfully,  but  a  dream  it  is.  I  should  not  believe 
you  of  the  same  family." 

"My  beauty  is  a  tender  spot  with  me,"  I  retorted 
resentfully. 

He  nodded  sympathetically  and  the  call  to  break- 
fast interrupted  the  enlivening  conversation. 

John  had  consented  after  much  pressure  to  make 
his  home  with  us,  but  only  upon  his  insisted  proviso 
that  he  pay  for  his  accommodation,  though  our  cir- 
cumstances did  not  render  that  formality  necessary. 
We  made  the  rate  as  low  as  we  might  and  keep  him, 
contributing  the  proceeds  to  the  good  of  the  cause. 
The  government  had  many  mouths  to  feed  and  was 
willing  enough  to  allow  the  militia  officers  who  could 
find  accommodations  'in  the  private  houses  at  the 


74    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

Harbor  to  do  so.  John  had  consented  to  the  ar- 
rangement only  after  much  urging,  intending  at  first 
to  cast  in  his  lot  at  the  barracks.  Our  persuasions 
finally  won  the  day. 

My  father,  at  last  helpless  for  active  duties  as  the 
final  result  of  wounds  received  at  Saratoga,  in  the 
flush  of  early  manhood  in  Revolutionary  days,  sat 
at  the  head  of  the  table.  Next  him  was  my  mother's 
vacant  chair,  kept  inviolate.  Her  portrait  hung 
upon  the  opposite  wall.  She  had  died  at  Dorothy's 
birth  and  we  had  been  reared  by  an  old  nurse.  The 
devoted  woman  had  herself  passed  away  some  years 
before,  and  Dorothy,  charming  and  capable,  was  now 
the  housekeeper,  and  withal  my  poor  father's  con- 
stant attendant. 

Despite  his  physical  weakness,  my  father's  mind 
was  as  keen  and  alert  as  in  his  vigorous  prime. 
Just  now  we  were  discussing  the  suspense  of  the 
settlers  since  the  formal  declaration  of  war  a  few 
days  before.  There  were  widespread  fears  along  the 
frontier  of  an  Indian  invasion. 

"I  do  not  believe,"  my  father  was  saying,  "that 
there  exists  the  serious  prospect  of  a  red  invasion. 
For  days  past  these  parties  of  panic-stricken  settlers, 
with  the  cry  of  Indians,  have  been  pouring  into  this 
village,  which  has  all  it  can  legitimately  do  to  feed 
its  natural  population.  Their  women  and  children 
are  well  nigh  insane,  and  the  men  themselves,  who 
should  have  their  stamina,  are  livid.  They  have  told 
the  most  absurd  stories.  Investigation  stamps  them 
moonshine.  Not  a  settlement  has  been  disturbed.  I 
do  not  believe  we  shall  suffer  from  the  redskins. 
What  do  you  think,  Captain  Godfrey?" 

"I  think  some  danger  exists,"  replied  John,  "but 
not  to  the  extent  that  was  first  apprehended.  There 


THE  RECRUITS  75 

is  a  way  to  repulse  savages  if  they  come,  however, 
which  is  to  shoot  straight  and  often.  That  the 
men  of  these  States  can  do.  I  think  there  are  points 
on  the  frontier  that  will  lend  themselves  to  attack  far 
more  readily  than  this.  The  natural  facilities  for 
defence  here  are  unusually  effective." 

"When  will  the  first  blow  be  struck?"  mused  I, 
whereupon  Dorothy  kicked  me  under  the  table.  I 
was  minded  to  retaliate,  but  contented  myself  with  a 
reproachful  glare. 

"It  occurs  to  me,"  remarked  Dorothy,  with  demure 
impudence,"  that  you  two,  great,  lazy  gossoons  would 
better  be  out  helping  to  make  ready  for  that  ex- 
pected blow.  You  are  certainly  procrastinating  this 
morning." 

Thus  admonished,  we  rose,  secured  and  lighted 
our  pipes  and  went  to  work.  There  were  expedients 
of  defence  to  be  overseen  and  constant  deployments 
of  raw  militia  arriving  to  be  equipped,  quartered  and 
drilled.  There  had  been  numerous  accessions  to  our 
companies,  which,  however,  did  not  increase  our 
numbers  though  they  added  amazingly  to  our  fight- 
ing strength.  This  seeming  anomaly  is  explained 
by  the  fact  that  a  number  of  the  worthless  vaga- 
bonds who  constituted  our  original  commands,  of 
whom  I  have  spoken,  alarmed  by  the  real  approach 
of  war,  had  considerately  deserted.  We  made  no 
effort  to  recapture  them,  for  we  felt  the  gainers  by 
the  loss.  With  our  commands  we  toiled  in  perfecting 
the  scanty  defences,  drilling  what  time  we  could 
devote  to  that  luxury. 

I  was  superintending  the  work  on  some  storehouses 
that  morning  when  a  dry  cough  at  my  elbow  drew 
my  attention.  I  turned  and  beheld  a  meagre  face 
and  a  wisp  of  a  figure,  oddly  shrivelled.  Cyrenus 


76  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

Bantwell  was  looking  at  me  with  odd  eyes ;  odd  be- 
cause amiable;  soft,  bearing  no  malice. 

"Well?"  I  inquired,  in  a  tone  made  kindly  by  this 
marvel. 

"Captain  Warburton,  sir,"  said  Cyrenus,  "I  want 
to  enlist." 

I  started  in  genuine  amazement.  "You!"  I  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  replied  doggedly.  "  You  see, — "  and 
his  eyes,  losing  their  softness,  glittered  in  savage  re- 
trospection,— "I  want  to  come  it  over  that  damned 
Swanson.  He  ain't  enlisted  yet.  You  let  me  jine 
right  now  and  then  give  me  leave  to  go  to  Water- 
town,  jest  for  this  arternoon.  I'll  walk  into  the 
tavern,  where  I'll  know  where  to  find  him — lazy  gump 
that  he  is — with  his  damn  feet  tilted  up  agin  the 
wall,  higher  than  his  head,  and  I'll  tell  him  I've 
enlisted  and  that  he's  a  cursed  coward  and  dassent. 
Lemme  do  this  and  I'll  be  back  in  the  mornin'." 

I  swallowed  a  smile.  "  But,  Cyrenus,"  I  observed, 
"you're  pretty  old." 

The  wizened  little  figure  straightened.  "  Think  so?" 
he  cried,  with  a  ring  in  his  voice  that  made  me  stare 
at  him.  "  Young  man,  I  lay  behind  a  breastwork  of 
bloody  bodies  years  before  you  were  thought  of!  I 
fought  all  through  the  damn  Revolution,  yes,  and 
afterward,  and  I  guess  there's  enough  left  in  the 
old  hulk  for  a  few  cracks  yet!  Try  me!"  The  old 
eyes  flamed.. 

He  walked  with  me  to  the  recruiting  office.  A  few 
minutes  sufficed.  Cyrenus  was  once  more  a  soldier. 
Once  more,  I  say,  for  the  words  he  spoke  had  moment- 
arily rent  the  veil  that  hid  his  past.  In  that  instant 
I  had  glimpsed  a  crowded  experience  that  made  me 
feel  indeed  a  stripling.  The  ring  in  his  harsh  voice, 


THE  RECRUITS.  77 

the  flame  in  his  eye,  had  bared  an  intrepid  soul.  In 
that  moment  I  knew  Cyrenus  to  be  a  man. 

No  sooner  was  he  enlisted  than  he  burned  with 
desire  to  be  away,  and  astride  the  horse  I  lent  him, 
he  set  out  for  Watertown,  a  malicious  grin  on  his 
unlovely  face. 

Early  the  next  morning  a  cloud  of  dust  in  the 
village  street  whirled  upward  under  thundering  hoof- 
beats.  They  approached  the  spot,  near  the  store- 
houses, where  Godfrey  and  I  were  standing.  There 
lumbered  up  a  heavy  draught  horse,  wearing  an 
injured  expression,  and  from  the  broad  back,  which 
was  sweating  with  the  burden  as  well  as  the  heat  of 
the  day,  rolled  the  corpulent  Noadiah.  Up  went  the 
veteran's  hand  in  a  salute  of  the  vintage  of  the  Revo- 
lution. We  gravely  returned  it.  The  face  of  Noadiah 
was  fixed  with  a  settled  purpose. 

"  Captains,"  he  rumbled,  "  I'd  hev  come  sooner,  but 
I  had  to  take  time  to  put  my  earthly  affairs  in  order. 
Which  of  your  companies  did  that  little  swab  of  a 
Bantwell  enlist  in  yesterday?" 

"In  mine,"  I  told  him  behind  my  hand,  my  face 
crimsoning.  The  wasp  had  done  its  work.  Noadiah 
abruptly  turned  to  John. 

"Captain,"  he  boomed,  "I  want  to  enlist  in  your 
company  as  fast  as  God  will  let  me!" 

John  looked  somewhat  mystified  at  this  patriotic 
zeal.  I  winked  slyly  and  he  led  Noadiah  to  the  re- 
cruiting office. 

A  few  minutes  later  up  rode  the  wasp,  an  unholy 
grin  on  his  face,  fat  chucklings  in  his  skinny  throat. 
He  glanced  toward  the  recruiting  office  from  which 
were  issuing  John  and  the  enlisted  Noadiah.  Cyrenus 
shook  with  odd,  silent  laughter.  They  came  toward 
us,  but  Noadiah,  catching  sight  of  Cyrenus,  halted, 


78    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

saluted  stiffly  to  J  ohn,  and  disappeared  with  dignity 
in  the  opposite  direction. 

Some  busy  days  ensued,  every  man  at  the  garri- 
son working  with  fervor  against  the  moment  of 
Britain's  first  blow.  Its  impact  was  awaited  with 
keen  anxiety,  but  for  the  most  part,  it  was  that 
mettlesome  type  of  concern  in  which  there  is  no  heart 
sinking.  We  knew  our  foe,  the  ancient  mistress  of  the 
seas,  knew  her  to  be  formidable.  But  we  remembered 
'76.  We  knew  her  men;  they  knew  us.  We  hoped. 
Cyrenus  Bantwell,  tireless  and  efficient,  had  quickly 
demonstrated  his  acquaintance  with  military  matters. 
We  had  made  him  a  sergeant,  and  he  was  busy  each 
day  with  the  drilling  of  awkward  but  willing  yeomen. 
One  afternoon  I  stopped  by  the  side  of  the  old  cynic. 
He  was  watching  a  squad  at  target  practice. 

"  Captain,"  he  said  dryly,  "  these  fellows  don't 
shine  on  dress  parade,  but  they're  hell  on  the  shoot. 
It's  always  been  so  with  the  men  of  this  half-baked 
country,  in  her  farmer  army  as  well  as  her  tub  of 
a  navy.  That's  the  reason  she  licked  the  old  gal 
from  Bennington  to  Yorktown,  and  it's  how  she's 
goin'  to  lick  her  again.  She  don't  waste  no  shots. 
Ammunition's  high  and  she's  too  cussed  thrifty  to 
throw  any  of  it  away.  Damme  if  I  don't  admire  her 
for  it!"  with  a  sour  smile. 

Noadiah  had  been  exerting  himself  in  John's  com- 
pany since  his  arrival  and  was  also  sergeant.  The 
veteran  rivals  had  encountered  each  other  but  seldom. 
On  these  occasions  Cyrenus  would  chuckle  dryly 
and  Noadiah  would  either  ignore  it  altogether  or 
destow  upon  his  foe  in  arms  a  glassy  stare. 

The  days  passed  feverishly,  filled  with  war  rumors. 
Detachments  of  raw  militia  from  the  scattered  set- 
tlements were  constantly  appearing,  and,  being 


THE  RECRUITS  79 

equipped,  were  turned  over  to  the  minor  officers 
to  be  licked  into  shape.  The  choleric  Cyrenus  grum- 
bled at  this,  though  I  knew  he  was  secretly  revelling 
in  the  work  and  proud  of  the  fine  results  which  he 
undeniably  obtained.  Despite  his  gnarled,  knotty 
nature,  I  was  beginning  to  like  him.  The  hard  crust 
cracked  at  times  and  from  the  fissure  poured  the 
flame  of  a  fire  truly  Martian,  mingled  with  the  smoke 
of  a  pleasant  love  of  liberty.  Crabbed  and  cross- 
grained,  a  long-time  pariah,  the  kindled  eye  at  such 
moments  revealed  the  old  man  in  the  light  of  a 
leonine  courage,  of  an  indomitable  will. 

I  hoped  during  those  days  that  Renee  and  her 
father  would  be  among  those  to  seek  shelter  at  the 
Harbor.  I  knew  them  too  well  to  expect  craven 
fear  to  drive  them,  but  hoped  that  Fear's  discreet 
sister,  Caution,  might  whisper  to  them.  But  to  my 
concern,  they  did  not  come,  while  the  days  passed. 
The  suspense  wore  upon  me.  I  longed  to  get  away 
and  look  personally  to  their  safety,  but  this  was  out 
of  the  question.  A  water  attack  was  feared  from 
Frontenac  at  any  moment.  I  must  remain  at  my 
post  and  could  only  hope  for  their  safety. 

Sullenly  there  was  pushed  the  work  of  preparation, 
while  our  anxious  eyes  daily  swept  the  lake.  For 
three  years  had  Frontenac  been  the  scene  of  ship- 
building operations,  and  we  did  not  know  the  day 
that  the  bulldogs  of  the  sea  would  be  upon  us.  While 
our  defences  were  yet  incomplete  and  chaotic,  how- 
ever, we  believed  that  we  were  better  able  to  protect 
ourselves  than  the  enemy  imagined.  A  few  short 
months  before,  their  spies  had  probably  reported 
—and  with  perfect  truth— that  so  far  as  any  effective 
defence  was  concerned,  we  had  not  read  the  hand- 
writing on  the  wall.  But  with  the  close  approach  of 


So  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

danger,  there  sprang  up,  like  the  green  things  of 
spring,  that  swift  fruition  of  concerted  effort  which 
is  in  times  of  distress  the  glory  and  pride  of  our 
national  character,  that  character  that  is  a  synonym 
for  resource.  Already  fortresses  frowned;  logs,  still 
green,  were  evoluting  into  ships;  defences  sprung 
up  as  if  by  magic.  We  smiled  grimly.  The  enemy's 
initial  visit  should  be  disconcerting  only  to  itself. 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  Spy 

The  sun,  red  with  heated  triumph,  had  dipped 
into  the  lake,  leering  a  lurid  prophecy  of  a  swel- 
tering morrow.  A  belated  coolness  rendered  the 
dusk  delicious.  I  reclined  at  ease  upon  an  elbow 
sprawled  in  moss  and  mold,  pipe  in  teeth, 
enjoying  it.  Above  me  stretched  spreading  branches, 
freighted  with  leafage  in  which  awakening  night 
breezes  whispered  tremulously.  There  were  vague 
stirrings,  shrill  peepings;  katydids  rioted;  lively 
crickets  perpetrated  lusty  chirpings.  Giant  frogs, 
pop-eyed  patriarchs  of  the  pools,  bellowed  in  the 
marshes,  booming  solemnly.  Suddenly  there  sounded 
nearby  the  hoot  of  a  derisive  owl.  For  an  instant 
all  sound  ceased,  the  orchestra  thus  rudely  reminded 
of  the  futility  of  it  all.  But  life  is  life  for  the  living, 
in  forest  as  in  town,  and  with  fine  contempt  for  the 
feathered  cynic,  the  colony  again  gave  universal 
tongue.  There  sounded  a  muffled  flapping.  The 
cynic,  with  sardonic,  flaring  eyes,  rose  and  winged 
away.  The  chorus  became  a  paean  of  thanksgiving. 

A  tiny  green  serpent,  wriggling  into  the  underbrush, 
raised  its  head  to  listen.  It  beheld  me  and  manipu- 
lated a  small,  forked  tongue  with  impudent  rapidity. 
I  leaned  forward,  blowing  a  cloud  of  smoke  into  its 
open  countenance.  It  scuttled  away  with  a  resentful 
flirt  of  its  tail. 


82  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

I  lay  at  ease,  at  peace  with  the  world.  It  was  a 
green  bowered  Arcady,  with  the  village  but  a  few  rods 
away.  From  my  vantage  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
hemming  forest  I  caught  glimpses,  through  the 
leaves,  of  the  embattled  town,  the  log  forts,  block- 
houses and  batteries,  the  skeleton  of  a  craft  in  build- 
ing at  Shiphouse  Point;  here  and  there  rows  of 
frowning  if  ancient  batteries.  Everywhere  grim,  red 
preparation,  softened  in  the  deepening  dusk. 

"Hell,  swathed  in  friendly  darkness!"  I  muttered 
and  refilled  my  pipe.  War  is  made  for  the  open,  the 
stark,  bare  places  that  man  has  cleared.  The  en- 
vironment of  the  forest  must  inevitably  render  the 
thought  of  it  a  deepening  horror.  As  soon  calmly 
meditate  foul  murder  beneath  the  vaulted  roof  of  a 
cathedral. 

Somewhere  back  among  the  trees  John  was  prowl- 
ing, with  no  particular  object.  He  was  content  to 
prowl  because  indefatigable.  He  had  performed 
a  day's  work  that  would  have  dropped  most  men 
groaning  in  their  bunks;  not  alone  in  the  direct- 
ing of  the  labors  of  others,  but  as  a  participant, 
performing  feats  of  strength  that  cleft  the  mouths 
of  fellow  toilers  with  astounding  gapings.  He  had 
handled  heavy  timbers  single-handed  with  enormous 
power,  had  lifted  weights  that  staggered  the  beholder. 
Now  and  then,  by  way  of  relaxation,  he  would  amuse 
himself  and  others  by  leaping  out  of  a  giant  hogs- 
head, chest  high,  with  a  good  half-foot  to  spare  as 
he  cleared  the  rim.  I  was  no  weakling  in  those  days, 
but  I  had  not  done  a  tithe  of  the  work  he  had  per- 
formed and  I  was  dog-tired.  We  had  strolled  to  the 
woods  after  supper,  and,  arrived  at  this  pleasant 
spot,  I  flung  myself  down  to  stretch  my  aching  limbs. 
He  remained  standing,  the  splendid  length  of  him 


THE  SPY  83 

straight  as  an  arrow,  stalwart  as  the  oak  which 
reared  itself  magnificently  near  him.  His  big  black 
beard  brushed  his  folded  arms,  the  dark  eyes  brooded. 
He  was  years  away. 

"John,"  I  exclaimed,  almost  querulously,  "are  you 
never  tired?"  I  rubbed  my  aching  shoulders,  for 
we  officers  worked  with  the  men  in  those  anxious 
days. 

Recalled  to  himself  and  earth,  John  glanced  at  me 
and  smiled  indulgently.  It  had  been  a  boy's  question, 
but  after  all  I  was  little  more. 

"  Why,  somewhat  occasionally,  Gilbert,"  he  replied, 
his  black  eyes  lightening  with  quizzical  humor, 
"though  not  often.  You  see  le  bon  Dieu  favored 
me  with  a  physique  and  constitution  somewhat  out 
of  the  ordinary  and  my  life  of  past  years  has  not 
been  such  as  to  indulge  pampering  of  the  flesh  and 
consequent  decay.  I  have  exercised  moderately  and 
gout  and  like  abominations  are  still  in  the  hazy, 
indeterminate  future." 

He  was  smiling  down  at  me,  his  big  white  teeth 
gleaming  between  brigand's  mustachios  and  beard,  his 
eyes  mirth-lit,  the  slouch  hat  pushed  far  back  on  his 
splendid  leonine  head,  a  shock  of  black  hair  tumbling 
over  his  brow. 

I  looked  up  at  him  with  distinct  appreciation. 
Where  was  there  such  another? 

"  It  has  been  said,"  quoth  I,  "  that  the  span  of  a 
day  and  night  should  be  subdivided  thus;  a  third 
for  work,  a  third  for  play,  a  third  for  sleep.  And  you, 
do  you  sleep  at  all?" 

"Four  hours  will  do,  five  is  an  indulgence,  more 
superfluous,"  he  answered.  "The  rest  of  my  day 
spells  work,  if  work  there  is  to  be  done.  And,  boy, 
there  is  always  work,  work  for  the  hand  and  heart 


84    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

and  brain,  a  work  that  may  be  made  play  itself 
when  you  lend  your  soul  to  it.  And  as  for  sleep — " 
he  flung  out  a  great  arm  with  a  passionate  gesture 
that  startled  me,  so  incongruous  did  the  sight  of  a 
strongly  expressed  emotion  seem  in  him,  who  was 
ordinarily  so  impassive,  a  veritable  sealed  mausoleum 
of  a  man, — "  why,  boy,  I  grudge  every  hour  that  I 
am  forced  by  nature  to  be  locked  in  it,  bound  help- 
less, body  and  soul  and  brain,  for  sleep  is  death  ! 
Have  you  ever  thought,  Gilbert,  of  the  hours  you 
lie  dead  while  you  are  yet  alive?  And  only  God 
knows  of  the  ages  we  shall  lie  sleeping,  you  and  I, 
mouldering  in  dust.  It  is  an  unspeakable  irony,  this 
death  in  life  in  the  sum  of  our  tiny  years,  this  waste 
of  precious  hours  as  against  the  uncounted  slumber- 
ing ages  that  will  roll  afterward!"  He  stooped, 
scooping  a  handful  of  brown  earth  into  his  palm. 
"  Who  knows,"  he  continued,  with  sombre  eyes,"  but 
this  was  once  a  man?  And  so  one  day  someone 
will  idly  scoop  you  and  I,  Gilbert,  into  the  hollow 
of  an  irreverent  hand,  and  scatter  us  thus,"  throw- 
ing the  soil  into  the  air,  "to  the  quartet  of  the 
winds!" 

I  shivered  with  creeping  spine.  I  was  not  over- 
given  to  such  grim  thoughts  as  these.  "God  help 
us,  John,"  I  muttered,  "but  that  is  a  horrible  idea ! 
And  how  many  years  have  I  been  dead  since  I  was 
born,  anyway?" 

His  great  laugh  boomed.  "  I'll  leave  you  to  figure 
it  up,"  he  answered  me.  "  I'm  going  for  a  short 
prowl."  And  he  fell  to  prowling  while  I  smoked.  Pres- 
ently the  pleasant  spirit  of  philosophy  that  dwells 
in  nicotine  had  spelt  away  the  grisly  spectre  con- 
jured by  his  words. 

I  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.    After  all,  my  spring  was 


THE  SPY  85 

at  its  flood,  and  there  were  to  follow,  please  God, 
a  golden  summer  and  a  ripe,  mellow  autumn.  To 
be  sure,  there  was  the  congealing  winter,  but  I  dis- 
missed that  thought  with  a  passing  shiver.  It  seemed 
— fond  irony  ! — an  interminable  gap  away.  And  then 
the  path  to  it  was  paved  with  fair  prospects,  glowing 
aspirations,  beckoning  hands  of  fortune.  And  when 
such  visions  proved  but  false  mirages  along  the 
course  of  life,  there  would  always  be  tobacco.  Blessed 
be  the  Indian,  mused  I,  and  refilled  the  bowl. 

The  dusk  deepened.  My  woodsy  environment  grew 
indistinct,  all  things  softening  in  gathering  shadow. 
Overhead,  through  an  opening  in  the  leafy  roof,  I 
could  see  the  awaking  dim  radiance  of  a  gathering 
star  in  a  sky  that  was  growing  darker,  swathed  in 
the  creeping  mantle  of  the  coming  night. 

I  yawned  and  lazily  regained  my  feet,  stretching 
mightily.  I  glanced  carelessly  through  the  trees 
toward  the  clearing  and  the  sprawling  town,  a  half 
mile  beyond.  Suddenly  my  wandering  gaze  became 
definitely  fixed.  Staring  for  a  moment,  I  instinc- 
tively drew  back  farther  into  the  deepening  shadows. 

A  man  was  coming  across  the  clearing  from  the 
VVatertown  highway,  headed  for  my  clump  of  woods. 
I  could  not  see  his  face  clearly,  but  he  appeared  to 
wear  the  uniform  of  an  officer  of  militia.  In  this 
there  was  nothing  strange,  but  I  was  struck  by 
his  peculiar  manner.  He  had  a  furtive,  harried  air, 
which  the  protecting  dusk  failed  to  conceal.  He  had 
not  the  leisurely,  swinging  stride  that  comes  of  a 
capital  dinner  and  an  easy  conscience.  His  gait  was 
jerky,  betraying  nervousness,  and  he  glanced  toward 
the  village  once  or  twice  in  an  apprehensive  way. 
Not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  He  came  straight  on  to- 
ward me. 


86  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"Now  what  the  devil  does  this  mean?"  mused  I. 
He  came  on,  entered  the  woods  and  sat  down  on  a 
fallen  mossy  log  not  ten  feet  from  me.  By  that  time 
I  was  behind  a  screening  tree. 

He  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  listening  in- 
tently, while  I,  noiseless  as  a  serpent,  busily  specu- 
lated, a  growing  suspicion  in  my  mind.  A  spy !  It 
was  almost  certain.  They  had  been  long  preparing 
at  Little  York  and  Frontenac  and  all  along  the  line. 
We  at  the  Harbor  anticipated  attack  daily,  wonder- 
ing in  fact  why  My  Lord  Provost  so  long  delayed. 
And  this  uniform  of  ours,  in  which  the  stranger 
seemed  to  feel  strangely  not  at  home!  I  watched 
him,  indistinct  in  the  growing  darkness,  ears  and  eyes 
strained,  scarcely  breathing. 

Reassured  by  the  continued  silence,  he  relaxed  his 
watchfulness  with  a  low,  relieved  laugh.  "Bah!"  he 
muttered,  "there's  not  the  slightest  danger.  Every- 
thing favors  so  far.  Ogdensburgh  and  Port  Putnam 
are  disposed  of  for  the  present  and  to-morrow  I'll 
begin  to  take  care  of  this  place.  Better  stay  here  a 
few  days,  I  guess,  and  then  for  Watertown,  Oswego 
and  the  rest.  Then  here  again  indefinitely.  It  will  be 
easy  for  us."  He  laughed  again. 

I  shook  my  fist  behind  the  sheltering  tree.  "On  the 
contrary,  your  habit  of  thinking  aloud,  my  friend," 
thought  I  grimly,  "makes  it  easy  for  us!" 

He  continued  indulging  his  convenient  weakness. 
"Let  me  see,"  he  ruminated,  "I  was  a  simple  trader 
at  Ogdensburgh  and  Port  Putnam.  It  was  sufficient 
for  my  purpose.  But  here  I  must  get  much  closer, 
for  here,  such  as  they  are,  are  the  headquarters." 
His  tone  indicated  a  contemptuous  amusement.  I 
clenched  my  fists. 

"I  am  in  receipt  of  my  Albany  commission,"  he 


THE  SPY  87 

chuckled,  "and  my  name  and  rank  in  this  bucolic 
army,  with  all  necessary  accompanying  evidence,  are 
here,"  significantly  tapping  a  breast  pocket.  "I 
think  I  am  sufficiently  posted  and  equipped.  It  is  a 
risky  game,"  with  another  low  laugh,  "but  I  hold 
the  cards." 

I  stepped  from  behind  the  tree.  "You  did,  my 
friend,"  I  told  him  sarcastically,  "but  you  have 
shown  your  hand." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Who  the  devil  are  you?" 
he  demanded,  rage  and  trepidation  struggling  in  his 
tone. 

"Rather,  who  are  you,"  I  retorted  grimly,  "who 
seem  so  ill  at  ease  in  the  uniform  you  wear?"  I 
approached  him  while  he  shrank  away.  His  hat  was 
drawn  down  over  his  eyes.  I  sprang  forward  full  into 
a  faint  rift  of  light  that  came  through  an  opening  in 
the  leafy  roof  above  us,  snatching  off  his  headgear. 
With  strained  eyes  we  stared  full  into  one  another's 
faces.  Then,  for  a  breathless  moment,  we  stood  word- 
less, rigid  as  statues. 

"You  spoke  a  moment  ago,"  said  I  at  last,  "of  an 
indefinite  stay  at  the  Harbor.  Do  you  not  now  un- 
derstand that  this  would  be  difficult?" 

He  measured  me  slowly  with  his  eyes.  Even  in  the 
darkness  I  could  read  the  challenge  in  them.  He  was 
no  coward. 

"What  do  you  intend  doing?"  he  asked,  very  softly. 

"To  turn  you  over  to  the  military  autherities  as  a 
spy,"  I  answered.  "And  to  speak  frankly,  I  am  sorry 
to  do  it." 

"I  share  your  sorrow,"  he  replied  with  sincerity, 
"but,  not  to  keep  you  waiting,  suppose  you  come  on 
and  take  me." 

"Agreed,"  I  acquiesced,  and  closed  with  him.    Back 


88  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

and  forth  we  writhed,  locked  lovingly  together,  trip- 
ping over  twisted  roots,  barking  shins  and  elbows 
against  tree  trunks,  wrestling  fiercely  for  a  decisive 
fall.  He  was  tough  and  wiry  and  gave  me  all  I  had 
bargained  for  and  more.  We  were  of  equal  size  and 
skill  and  it  became  evident  that  it  was  a  doubtful 
issue.  Twice  I  almost  had  him,  but  he  slipped  out 
like  an  eel.  We  stumbled  about  blindly,  breathing 
hard. 

I  braced  myself  for  a  supreme  effort.  Breaking  his 
hold,  I  threw  an  arm  behind  his  back.  Drawing  him 
close  up,  I  crooked  my  free  arm  against  his  throat, 
pressing  the  forearm  against  it  as  I  drew  him  toward 
me.  His  eyes  bulged  and  his  tongue  protruded,  but 
in  the  critical  moment  I  caught  a  foot  in  a  gnarled 
root,  and  pitched  forward,  my  hold  relaxing.  Before 
I  could  recover  he  had  grasped  me  fair,  secured  a 
clever  hiplock  and  flung  me  a  half  dozen  feet  away, 
head-on  against  a  burly  tree  trunk.  I  saw  two  mil- 
lion stars. 

Struggling,  half  senseless  and  bewildered,  to  my 
feet,  I  saw  him  making  for  the  clearing  beyond.  I 
hurried  in  pursuit.  There  came  a  great  crashing 
through  the  brush  behind  me,  as  if  a  bear  had  made 
it.  John  burst  out  of  the  woods,  leaping  to  my  side. 

"What  is  it,  Gilbert?"  he  demanded.  "What's  the 
row?" 

Running  the  faster,  I  pointed  to  the  fleeing  figure. 
"Catch  him,  John!"  I  gasped.  "Damn  him,  he's  a 
spy,  a  cursed  spy!" 


CHAPTER  X 
The  Chase 

I  was  accounted  a  good  runner,  but  John  bounded 
ahead  of  me  like  a  deer  in  pursuit  of  that  scampering 
knave.  With  ringing  head  I  hurried  after  him,  but 
he  distanced  me  speedily,  his  herculean  figure  fairly 
flying  after  the  stranger,  on  whom  he  gained  rapidly. 
The  fugitive  reached  the  highway  with  us  in  hot  pur- 
suit. He  dashed  across  it  into  a  clump  of  cedars. 
The  next  instant  there  was  a  trample  of  hoofs  and 
he  reappeared,  dim  in  the  darkness,  astride  a  horse, 
undoubtedly  his  own  that  he  had  tethered  there.  He 
waved  us  a  mocking  adieux,  struck  the  animal  a 
resounding  slap  on  the  flank  and  set  out  at  a  merry 
pace  toward  Watertown. 

I  jerked  my  pistol  from  its  holster.  John  restrained 
me.  "Too  dark  and  he  is  too  far  away,  Gilbert," 
said  he  coolly.  "We  shall  get  him — and  get  him 
alive." 

"But  how?"  I  cried  incredulously.  "He  has  four 
legs  under  him,  we  but  that  between  us." 

"Listen!"  he  replied  simply.  Down  the  road  there 
sounded  a  confused  jumble  of  hoofbeats.  Horses 
were  coming  at  a  sharp  trot.  John  stood  in  the 
center  of  the  road.  "  Halt  I"  he  demanded,  and  three 
animals  were  pulled  up  sharply  by  a  trio  of  shadowy 
horsemen. 

" Lieutenant Grimshaw/' said  John  rapidly,  "two  of 


90    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

those  horses  if  you  please,  the  best  ones !  If  we  kill 
them  we'll  pay  you  for  them."  We  swung  into  the 
saddles  that  were  immediately  vacated  by  the  sur- 
prised riders  and  turned  the  horses'  heads. 

"Met  a  fellow  just  now  who  was  in  a  hell  of  a 
hurry,"  insinuated  Grimshaw,  as  we  shook  out  the 
reins.  "So  are  we,  same  reason!"  John  flung  back 
over  his  shoulder.  In  the  distance  we  heard  them 
laugh. 

We  thundered  along  while  I  told  John  briefly  of  the 
encounter.  "  Curious  circumstance,  that  last  fact  you 
mention,  Gilbert,"  he  commented,  with  a  shade  of 
doubt  in  his  tone.  "Very  unusual.  You  are  sure?" 

"  Entirely,"  I  protested.  "  I  cannot  be  mistaken.  I 
was  astounded  myself.  I  think  it  was  that  which 
contributed  to  my  undoing.  I  had  not  recovered 
from  my  surprise."  For  my  poor  skull  produced  a 
rankling  in  my  memory  and  my  pride  of  prowess  was 
deeply  touched. 

John  laughed.  "Yes,  this  was  the  root  of  your 
evil,"  he  assured  me  soothingly.  "You  would  have 
had  him  else."  But  I  looked  at  him,  as  he  sat  his 
horse  like  a  shadowy  Colossus,  with  lively  envy.  Had 
the  unknown  had  him  to  deal  with,  there  had  been  no 
muscle-racking  wrestle,  no  ensuing  flight  for  the  fugi- 
tive. Strong  as  the  stranger  was,  and  he  was  as 
strong  as  I,  he  would  have  been  a  child  in  those 
mighty  hands. 

The  good  brutes  under  us  swept  on  at  a  stretching 
gallop.  We  knew  them  for  two  of  the  best  animals  at 
the  garrison  and  they  were  quite  fresh.  They  had 
been  ridden  by  regular  subalterns  to  the  Watertown 
arsenal  that  morning  and  were  just  returning  after 
a  day's  rest  when  John  hailed  their  riders.  We  felt 
confident  of  overtaking  the  fugitive. 


THE  CHASE  91 

"It  is  evident,"  I  told  John,  "from  his  soliloquy, 
which  I  interrupted,  that  he  had  just  arrived  at  the 
Harbor  after  a  day's  journey,  probably  from  Port 
Putnam.  That  is  a  hard  ride  over  indifferent  roads. 
And  his  horse  must  be  a  good  one  to  distance  these 
fellows." 

"I  don't  believe  he  is  very  far  ahead  now,"  an- 
swered John.  "However,  the  moon  will  be  up  in  a  few 
moments  and  we  shall  see." 

We  galloped  on  in  silence  for  a  space.  Stones, 
spurned  by  the  flying  hoofs,  struck  fire;  the  shadowy 
woods  on  either  side  rushed  by  in  broad  bands  of 
softened  murk.  We  heard  the  agitated  rustlings  of 
startled  night  creatures;  hoot  owls  screeched  their 
protests  at  the  riotous  breaking  of  the  forest  quiet. 
The  stars  gleamed  in  the  calm,  wide  sky.  By  and  by 
the  gloom  was  lightened,  the  dark  way  before  us 
gradually  bathed  in  radiance.  The  round,  white 
globe  of  the  moon  glowed  over  distant  trees. 

"Look  !"  said  John,  pointing.  A  half  mile  ahead  of 
us  a  solitary  horseman  was  ascending  a  slight  rise, 
his  steed  at  a  leisurely  trot.  "He  believes  pursuit  has 
been  abandoned,"  commented  John,  his  lips  tighten- 
ing, the  light  of  battle  in  his  eyes.  We  urged  on  our 
horses. 

The  rush  of  hoof  beats  came  to  the  fugitive's  ears. 
He  looked  back.  There  was  no  mistaking  that  giant 
figure  which  had  chased  him  to  the  cedars.  He 
grasped  the  situation  in  a  moment,  and  shaking  a 
defiant  fist  in  the  moonlight,  he  was  off  like  the 
wind,  crouched  low  in  his  saddle,  head  well  over  his 
horse's  neck.  He  had  the  seat  of  a  jockey. 

"He  rides  like  the  very  devil!"  commented  John, 
with  admiration,  and,  with  his  own  body  extended  and 
toes  well  set  in  the  stirrups,  to  ease  his  horse,  he 


92     THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

urged  the  animal  on  in  grim  pursuit,  with  me  trail- 
ing at  his  heels.  The  pace  grew  swifter.  We  cleft  the 
air  like  arrows,  the  startled  night  wind  whistling  in 
our  ears. 

We  drew  near  Watertown  village.  In  a  few  minutes, 
at  this  rate,  we  would  be  there.  The  horse  of  the 
stranger  was  evidently  tiring.  Once  in  the  village 
help  would  readily  be  obtainable  to  run  the  fugitive 
down.  If  he  got  out  of  it  at  all  it  would  not  be  far. 

The  lights  grew  nearer.  The  fleeing  Briton  descended 
into  a  hollow.  We  had  gained  materially,  but  now 
he  swerved  sharply,  and  leaving  the  highway,  sheered 
off  to  the  northward  across  a  sparse,  struggling  grain 
field.  We  turned  our  horses'  heads  and  took  a  low, 
rickety  fence  after  him.  "He's  no  fool,  to  run  his  head 
into  a  noose,  Gilbert,"  called  John.  "He's  avoiding 
the  town  and  making  for  the  Kahuahgo." 

On  rushed  the  fugitive  through  the  grain  field, 
taking  a  fence  at  the  end  into  a  broad  piece  of  pas- 
ture land.  His  horse,  which  was  fast  tiring,  caught 
a  hoof  in  the  upper  rail  as  he  went  over,  stumbling 
and  nearly  falling  as  he  landed,  but  was  caught  up 
by  his  rider  in  a  masterly  manner  and  kept  on. 

"Good!"  exclaimed  John,  with  sparkling  eyes. 
"That  fellow  has  ridden  to  hounds,  Gilbert,  you  can 
wager.  He  could  keep  house  in  the  saddle." 

A  moment  later  we  had  taken  the  fence  without 
accident  and  were  hot  after  him.  A  space  more  and 
we  were  at  the  bank  of  the  Kahuahgo.  It  rolled 
sullen  and  black  with  menace.  Here  and  there  treach- 
erous eddies  whirled,  eddies  that  could  suck  a  man 
into  eternity,  for  it  is  a  murderous  stream. 

On  reaching  the  bank  the  hunted  rider  whirled, 
heading  down  stream.  "He's  making  for  a  ford," 
muttered  Godfrey.  Ere  long  he  had  reached  a  spot 


THE  CHASE  93 

where  rippling  rapids,  on  which  the  moonbeams  glit- 
tered, revealed  shallow  water  for  the  river's  width. 
He  urged  his  tired  horse  toward  it,  but  the  animal 
recoiled.  The  rider  tried  again  and  the  steed  reared, 
all  but  unseating  him. 

With  a  curse  that  came  faintly  to  our  ears,  the 
stranger  drove  in  his  spurs  and  was  oft"  again,  along 
a  rough  wood  road  that  began  at  that  spot,  winding 
through  the  forest,  following  down  the  south  bank 
of  the  river.  On  we  went  after  him,  having  gained 
materially  while  he  had  lost  time  at  the  ford,  follow- 
ing hot  along  the  indifferent  course.  The  moon  was 
too  bright  for  him  to  escape  us.  We  gained  more 
rapidly  now,  for  his  horse  was  almost  spent. 

For  two  miles  more  we  chased  him,  finally  getting 
to  within  a  stone's  throw  of  him.  John  drew  his 
pistol.  "It  is  for  the  horse,"  he  explained.  "The 
woods  are  thicker  ahead.  We  must  take  no  chances  of 
losing  him." 

"Stop  or  I  fire!"  he  called.  There  was  no  answer 
save  a  renewed  application  by  the  man  ahead  of  his 
spurs,  with  savage  energy,  while  he  jerked  his  horse's 
head  toward  the  thickening  woods  that  hemmed  the 
river's  edge. 

The  horse  swung  broadside  and  the  light  was  ex- 
cellent. Godfrey,  who  was  a  magnificent  marksman, 
quickly  levelled  his  pistol  and  fired,  without  decreas- 
ing speed.  The  poor,  stricken  brute  stumbled  and  fell, 
lying  kicking  and  plunging  in  the  rough  roadway. 
His  rider  pitched  into  the  underbrush. 

Hasttfy  galloping  to  the  spot,  we  flung  ourselves 
from  our  blown  horses.  John  plunged  into  the  woods. 
I  stopped  only  long  enough  to  put  a  ball  through 
the  head  of  the  floundering  horse,  ending  its  agony 
and  followed  him. 


94    THE  TRIAL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

I  found  John  staring  perplexedly  toward  an  ad- 
jacent clump  of  underbrush.  "I  saw  him  a  moment 
ago,  right  there,"  he  said,  pointing,  as  I  ran  up. 
"And  can  you  tell  me  where  the  devil  he  is  now?" 


CHAPTER  XI 
Lieutenant  Stranahan 

We  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  wild,  wooded  glen, 
bordering  the  river  shore.  Great,  uncouth  ledges, 
faintly  gray  in  the  moonlight,  loomed  here  and 
there  about  us  and  buttressed  in  massive,  broken 
masses  the  edge  of  the  rushing  Kahuahgo  at  our 
right  hand,  the  waters  lapping  the  rock  not  thirty 
paces  away.  The  flood  showed  black  and  sinister  in 
the  white  sheen  of  the  moon,  swirling  fiercely  in  swift 
rapids,  fanged  with  white  foam  splashes,  the  stream 
hurrying  madly  forward  to  the  roaring  falls  below. 
Our  eyes  swept  the  illumined  vista  toward  the  river, 
then  again  sought  the  shadows  to  the  left,  bent  on 
the  spot  where  John  had  seen  the  fugitive  in  the 
brief  instant  ere  he  disappeared.  Not  a  sign  of  a 
quarry;  only  the  sight  and  snarl  of  the  brawling 
river  and  the  trailing  shadows  of  the  glen,  splashed 
with  scattering  moonbeams. 

John  smote  a  large  palm  within  the  other,  an 
eloquent  gesture  of  disgust.  "  I  saw  him  right  there," 
he  growled,  pointing.  "  I'll  swear  it !  But  where " 

"  He's  somewhere  about,"  I  responded  impatiently. 
"Did  you  look  there?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "Beat  through  there  just 
before  you  came,  but  couldn't  raise  him,,  Thought 
he  might  have  made  a  detour  and  gone  toward  the 
river.  But  he  hasn't,  for  I  would  iiave  seen 


96   THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

We  were  advancing  toward  the  spot  where  John  was 
convinced  he  had  seen  the  Briton.  I  plunged  into 
the  midst  of  a  mass  of  low,  screening  shubbery. 
"  Maybe  he's  under  here,"  I  called,  kicking  at  random 

here  and  there.  "  If  he  is "  but  the  sentence  faded 

in  a  startled  yell  as  the  earth  yawned  and  swallowed 
me. 

In  the  breath  of  time  it  took  me  to  fall  that  dozen 
feet  I  had  ample  verification  that  the  brain  has 
swifter  processes.  For  three  reflections  flashed  through 
my  mind  in  that  instant ;  the  first,  that  I  had  heard 
of  the  existence  of  a  cave  in  this  very  glen;  the 
second,  a  well  founded  supposition  that  I  was  enter- 
ing it;  the  third,  a  conviction  that  I  should  find  my 
quarry  at  the  bottom,  which  he  had  probaby  reached 
as  unexpectedly  as  I  was  approaching  it. 

I  reached  the  bottom  with  a  jarring  emphasis  that 
effectually  stopped  my  ruminations  for  the  moment. 
Then,  somewhat  dazed,  but  assuring  myself  gingerly 
with  cautions  rubbings  that  I  was  still  bonewhole 
I  struggled  unsteadily  to  my  feet  and  gazed  wide-eyed 
into  pitchy  darkness.  A  grisly,  unseen  hand  clutched 
me  heart  and  soul,  a  slow  panic  seized  me  there  in 
the  blackness.  Strained  eyes  that  stared,  so  futile  in 
the  gloom ;  that  strove  yet  could  not  see.  Till  I  die 
I  shall  shudder  at  the  horror  that  remembered  mo- 
ment brings — and  pray  God  to  pity  His  helpless 
blind ! 

So  I  stood,  rigid  in  the  dark,  half  crouched ;  holding 
my  very  breath  and  waiting.  Every  faculty  was 
merged  in  one  strained,  aching,  sharpened  sense  of 
hearing.  The  measured,  slow  drip  of  water  from  the 
rocky  walls;  far  down  the  descending  passage  the 
muffled  beating  of  a  bat's  wings.  These  were  all  for 
a  moment,  but  now  there  was  something  else,  a 


LIEUTENANT  STRANAHAN  97 

vague,  soft  stir  quite  near  me,  that  congealed  my 
blood  and  set  an  army  of  little,  malevolent  devils 
pricking  my  freezing  spine. 

It  is  a  supreme  test  enough,  in  very  truth,  of  one's 
nerve  to  do  battle  in  the  dark  with  some  wild  beast. 
But  in  such  case,  at  all  events,  there  are  the  eyes 
of  one's  quarry,  flaming  warnings,  terrifying  surely, 
but  still  serving  as  lamps  to  show  which  way  the 
menace  lies.  But  here,  facing  other  human  eyes 
without  the  phosphorescent  gleam  that  spells  a  des- 
perate reassurance  as  well  as  the  gauge  of  battle ; 
knowing  not  of  the  position  of  the  enemy  nor  from 
what  side  the  attack  might  come,  whether  it  would 
be  a  repetition  of  the  furious  physical  struggle  of 
the  hour  before  or  a  quiet  knife  thrust  in  the  back; 
the  unknown,  maddening  menace  that  the  darkness 
held;  all  this  crowds  such  an  experience  of  seconds 
with  the  crawling  sluggishness  of  hours;  such  an 
hour  with  the  endless  iteration  of  eternity. 

A  moment  so  I  waited,  teeth  bared,  glaring  into 
the  darkness,  listening.  There  was  a  breathless  in- 
terval of  slow,  cautious  stirrings,  real  and  imagined; 
the  sound  of  repressed,  soft  breathing  that  seemed 
to  draw  nearer,  the  approach  in  the  blackness  of  a 
muffled,  murderous  fate.  Then  my  hand  fell  me- 
chanically upon  my  knife  handle,  protruding  from  my 
belt.  Strangely  enough,  I  recalled  the  weapon  for 
the  first  time.  I  made  to  withdraw  the  blade,  but 
ere  I  could  do  so  there  came  a  scuffling,  uncertain 
rush  toward  me  and  we  came  together.  Instinctively 
I  caught  his  right  wrist,  twisting  it.  There  was  a 
metallic  ring  on  the  stone  floor  of  the  cave. 

For  the  second  time  that  night  we  were  in  one 
another's  arms,  well  nigh  cracking  each  other's  ribs 
in  savage  joy  at  the  reunion.  There  was  something 


98  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

eerie  in  that  struggle  in  pitch  darkness,  this  grap- 
pling with  an  invisible  force,  which,  though  unseen, 
I  could  well  testify  was  tangible  enough.  But  there 
was  positive  relief  in  this  proof  of  a  strenuous, 
embodied  danger  after  the  appalling  moments  of  un- 
certain waiting.  For  a  moment  we  struggled  and 
then  fortune  favored  me.  With  a  sudden  twist  I 
succeeded  in  throwing  a  heel  behind  his  own,  trip- 
ping him.  Down  he  came  like  a  log  with  me  top- 
ping him.  His  head  struck  the  rocky  floor  with  a 
sickening  impact  and  he  lay  quiet.  I  knelt  upon 
him  with  savage  joy.  Revenge  was  sweet. 

Now  there  came  a  flare  of  light,  a  quick  scrambling 
and  a  pair  of  heavy  boots  struck  the  floor  just  back 
of  me.  Ere  I  could  turn  my  head  a  mighty  hand 
was  twisted  in  my  collar.  Half  throttled,  I  was 
torn  from  my  victim  and  jerked  to  my  feet  as  if  I 
had  been  a  mutinous  schoolboy.  I  was  whirled  to 
right  about  face.  The  giant  peered  into  my  indignant 
countenance,  holding  a  huge,  flaring  sliver  of  resinous 
wood  in  his  free  hand.  The  other  dropped  from  my 
neck.  He  was  all  concern. 

"Hell,  Gilbert !"  he  exclaimed.  "I  thought  you  were 
your  enemy ! " 

I  gasped  for  breath  while  his  eyes  lighted  with  a 
humor  that  I  could  not  appreciate  at  the  moment. 
"Why  didn't  you  speak?"  he  inquired. 

"Speak!"  I  sputtered  resentfully,  rubbing  my  con- 
stricted neck.  "At  first  you  gave  me  no  time  and 
afterward  I  couldn't!  And  why  did  you  take  it  for 
granted  that  you  would  find  him  on  top  for  the 
second  time?  Had  I  not  a  score  to  even?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  quizzically,  surveying  the 
stunned  figure,  which  lay  quiet  on  the  slippery  floor 
of  the  cave,  "and  I  guess  you've  evened  it.  Dumped 


LIEUTENANT  STRANAHAN  99 

him  on  his  head,  eh?  Well,  that's  poetic  justice. 
Your  own  must  still  be  aching."  It  was.  I  rubbed 
it  tenderly. 

"Not  knowing  the  lay  of  your  cave,  I  took  the 
precaution  to  slice  off  an  improvised  torch  before 
coming  in,"  said  John.  "Let's  take  a  look  at  this 
fellow."  He  bent  over  the  prostrate  spy,  holding 
the  torch  above  the  pale  face,  which  showed  ghastly 
in  the  glare.  John  lifted  the  unconscious  man's 
head,  from  which  the  blood  was  dripping. 

"Jarred  badly  and  head  cut  on  the  rock,"  said 
John,  "but  he'll  be  all  right  in  a  little  while.  Take 
the  beacon,  Gilbert."  Stooping,  he  lifted  the  senseless 
six-footer,  a  man  full  as  heavy  as  myself,  with  the 
ease  that  an  ordinary  man  would  pick  up  a  child, 
and  started  with  him  toward  the  entrance.  I  pre- 
ceded him  with  the  torch.  Scrambling  up  the  de- 
clivity I  inserted  the  beacon  in  a  crevice  and  we 
made  to  haul  the  prisoner  up  and  out  of  the  cave. 

John  laid  the  stranger  on  the  ground  outside  the 
black,  uninviting  hole,  going  rapidly  through  his 
pockets.  At  his  suggestion  I  went  quickly  to  the 
wood  road,  where  lay  the  dead  body  of  the  captive's 
horse.  I  removed  the  saddle  and  bags  and  returned. 

John  was  directing  his  efforts  toward  reviving  the 
stranger,  but  without  effect.  "Poor  devil!"  he  ex- 
claimed, pity  in  his  eyes.  "It's  hard,  bitterly  hard 
lines,  Gilbert.  He's  a  gallant  young  fellow  and  it 
was  for  his  country.  A  risky  job.  And  to  end  so 
before  it  is  fairly  begun!" 

I  realized  his  meaning.  A  spy,  caught  red-handed. 
I  knew  the  sinister  fate  of  spies.  And  yet — 

A  sudden  idea  seized  me,  an  idea  whimsical  and 
bizarre,  bold  as  brass  and  fraught  with  gravest 
risks.  I  laughed  at  the  very  impudence  of  the  plan 


loo  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

that  had  flashed  like  lightning  through  my  brain 
and  was  then  straightway  sobered  by  a  swift,  realiz- 
ing sense  of  what  its  adoption  might  entail.  A 
whimsy,  in  very  truth,  that  might  hold  death  at  the 
end,  and  a  death  not  accounted  among  the  most  heroic 
of  adieux  to  the  restless  world.  I  stood  reflecting, 
revolving  the  mad  scheme  in  my  mind. 

"Well?"  John,  bending  over  the  still  inert  figure, 
looked  up  at  me  questioningly.  "What  is  it,  Gil- 
bert?" 

In  a  few  words  I  told  him.  He  gazed  at  me  in 
amazement  for  an  instant,  then  glanced  quickly  at 
the  man  at  his  feet,  measuring  him  critically. 
Then  his  eyes  returned  to  me  thoughtfully,  with  a 
searching  scrutiny.  At  last  he  spoke. 

"You  are  an  impulsive  daredevil,  Gilbert,"  he  said 
slowly.  "You  might  carry  it  through.  It  would 
require  resource  and  discretion.  Those  I  feel  con- 
fident you  possess,  but  you  would  have  need  to 
develop  them.  It  involves  a  heavy  risk." 

"I  count  the  risk,"  I  answered.  He  remained  silent 
a  moment  with  knitted  brows.  "There  is  one  vital 
consideration,"  he  said  suddenly,  "which  is  to  ascer- 
tain the  extent  of  this  man's  acquaintance  in  the 
provinces  yonder.  I  have  the  impression  that  he 
is  fresh  from  England  and  was  at  once  assigned  to 
this  work.  If  this  is  so,  so  much  the  better ;  if  not, 
the  undertaking,  to  say  the  least,  would  be  very 
dubious.  Let  me  see,  his  papers  may  serve  to  show." 

We  rifled  his  saddle-bags,  finding  valuable  additions 
to  the  documents  which  John  had  already  filched 
from  his  pockets.  John  then  procured  and  lighted  a 
fresh  torch  and  we  hastily  mastered  the  import  of 
the  papers.  There  were  a  number  of  official  docu- 
ments containing  full  information  of  the  name,  rank 


LIEUTENANT  STRANAHAN  101 

and  purposes  of  our  captive  for  our  unique  needs, 
together  with  private  papers  revealing  in  full  his 
secret  plan  of  campaign  and  a  number  of  letters 
from  military  and  private  circles  which  would  be 
valuable  later  on.  We  glanced  swiftly  over  the  cap- 
tured intelligence,  after  which  I  secreted  it  carefully. 
John  uttered  an  exclamation  of  satisfaction. 

"My  supposition  was  correct,"  he  said.  "Arrived 
from  England  only  shortly  since,  he  proceeded  at 
once  to  Montreal,  where  he  reported  for  duty  to  Sir 
George  Provost,  who  immediately  assigned  him  to 
continuous  secret  service  along  the  New  York  frontier. 
He  met  scarcely  anyone  over  there  before  coming. 
I  see  he  attended  to  that  little  matter  of  an  Albany 
Commission.  That  would  have  been  a  clever  dodge — 
if  it  had  worked.  Moreover,  I  gather  that  he  is  left 
with  a  free  hand.  Though  young,  he  must  have 
distinguished  himself  in  some  way  in  this  line  abroad. 
Strange  he  should  blunder  so  to-night,  but  the  best 
of  them  come  to  it  sooner  or  later.  I  do  not  under- 
stand from  his  data  that  he  is  required  to  report 
directly  at  Montreal  at  any  time,  but  rather  to 
communicate  his  findings  thither  unobtrusively  in 
writing,  and  occasionally  to  confer  in  person  with 
the  military  authorities  at  Frontenac  and  other 
towns  on  the  lake  and  river,  as  the  case  may  require. 
All  this  renders  your  idea  more  feasible,  Gilbert, 
than  it  appeared  to  be  at  first.  It  was  a  pretty  plan 
our  friend  had.  It  is  sad  to  see  it  nipped  in  the 
bud  so  prematurely." 

"Sad  indeed!"  spoke  a  voice.  We  started.  The 
captive  had  risen  to  his  feet,  regarding  us,  swaying 
a  little  from  giddiness.  There  was  a  faint,  rueful 
smile  upon  his  pale  face.  The  grim  humor  of  the 
situation  was  by  no  means  lost  upon  him. 


102  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"I  trust,  my  friend,  that  your  head  does  not  un- 
duly pain  you,"  remarked  John,  with  quiet  apprecia- 
tion of  the  situation.  "And  such  as  it  is,  you  may 
find  some  little  satisfaction  in  the  fact  that  the  poll 
of  my  friend  here  is  doubtless  still  buzzing  from  the 
effects  of  the  hard  butt  you  gave  it  some  time 
agone."  It  was  true.  I  felt  gingerly  of  a  swelling  lump. 

The  young  fellow  smiled  good-naturedly  enough. 
He  had  proved  his  gallantry.  He  was  now  attesting 
his  possession  of  philosophy. 

"True,"  he  replied,  addressing  me,  "the  issue  is  still 
undecided.  We  have  each  won  a  fall.  The  third  must 
decide.  Take  care,  sir,  that  I  do  not  win  the  rubber." 

"It  is  as  God  wills,"  I  replied.  "Though  with  all 
cordiality  I  can  attest  to  your  courage  and  your 
skill,  Lieutenant  Stranahan." 

"Lieutenant  Stranahan!"  he  echoed,  and  instinc- 
tively clapped  his  hand  to  his  breast  pocket.  He 
swore  with  emphasis.  Then  his  eyes  caught  sight 
of  the  rifled  saddle-bags. 

"My  papers !  You  have  them,  then?"  he  questioned. 

"All,"  I  answered. 

Involuntarily  the  captive's  eyes  turned  swiftly 
toward  the  saddle.  It  was  but  a  fleeting  glance,  but 
it  sufficed  for  John,  who  had  been  watching  him  like 
a  hawk.  In  a  moment  the  giant,  with  drawn  knife, 
had  caught  up  the  saddle.  Examining  it  closely  he  slit 
the  inner  linings  and  drew  forth  some  additional  data, 
which  he  handed  me  to  place  with  the  other  docu- 
ments. The  additions  proved  valuable  in  after  days. 

"Learn  to  control  your  eyes,  Lieutenant,"  remarked 
John  quietly  to  the  captive,  who  had  made  no  effort 
to  conceal  his  chagrin.  "Later,"  added  the  trapper, 
"I  shall  trouble  to  search  you  still  more  carefully." 

Stranahan  was  watching  me  with  a  curious  stare. 


LIEUTENANT  STRANAHAN  103 

"You  gave  them  to  him,"  said  he,  addressing  John. 
"For  what  reason?" 

"Because  he  will  have  use  for  them,"  replied  God- 
frey. 

"Because,"  I  added,  "you  will  soon  have  finished 
with  your  name,  Lieutenant  Stranahan,  and,  believe 
me,  it  is  my  personal  regret  that  the  fortune  of  haz- 
ard has  served  you  so  ill.  But,  at  all  events,  you 
will  have  done  with  it.  Well,  I  shall  take  it.  I  will 
see  if  I  can  succeed  where  you  have  failed.  The  im- 
personation will  serve  a  double  purpose,  to  screen 
my  own  country  and  to  shield  my  operations  in 
yours.  If  I  fail,  why  my  end  will  be  as  yours." 

He  had  whitened  to  the  lips.  Standing  in  a  broad 
belt  of  moonlight  that  streamed  through  an  opening 
in  the  trees,  his  face  gleamed  livid.  "It  is  madness  !" 
he  cried — and  our  eyes  met.  For  a  moment  we  gazed 
hard  at  one  another,  and  my  own  eyes  shone  con- 
fident as  despair  crept  into  his.  John  watched  the 
little  drama  with  a  peculiar  expression. 

"Blundering  fool!"  hissed  the  captive,  through 
grinding  teeth.  "Fool,  who  has  brought  this  devil's 
botch  upon  his  cause  and  country!"  He  struck  his 
forehead  with  clenched  fist,  raging  against  himself, 
though  he  was  after  all  but  the  victim  of  untoward 
circumstance.  We  watched  him  in  pitying  silence. 

The  paroxysm  passed,  he  turned  to  us,  a  proud 
resignation  in  his  face,  lips  that  tightened  with  the 
determination  to  brave  undaunted  the  black  shadow 
that  was  creeping  toward  him.  "And  I,  gentlemen," 
he  questioned  low. 

John's  troubled  eyes  removed  from  him,  gazing 
over  the  black,  snarling  river.  "You,"  he  answered, 
his  voice  strangely  gentle,  "are  a  brave  man — and  a 
spy.  You  know  the  fate  of  spies.  God  help  you ! " 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  Alarm 

I  drew  my  pipe  from  my  pocket  and  was  about 
to  fill  it  when  I  remembered.  Searching  in  an  inner 
pocket  I  produced  a  cigar,  the  last  of  a  handful 
secured  the  day  previous.  It  was  more  desirable 
for  riding.  A  pipe  was  made  for  quiet  and  repose. 

Old  Abner  Holcomb  watched  me  with  mournful 
eyes.  Reflecting  that  a  smoke  of  some  kind  was  a 
religious  duty  after  breakfast,  and  that  the  pipe 
might  do  for  me,  even  on  horseback,  I  proffered 
Abner  the  cigar.  He  shook  his  head.  "Don't  smoke," 
he  drawled  drearily. 

"You  chew,"  I  ventured,  with  a  glance  at  his 
splotched  chin  whisker.  It  should  have  been  wholly 
gray. 

"That's  it,"  he  moaned  listlessly.  "Don't  have 
time  for  smokin'.  Got  any  chawin'?" 

"No,"  I  replied  apologetically.  "Don't  chaw.  Just 
smoke." 

"Yuh,"  commented  Abner  sombrely.  "I  see.  Some 
same  as  me,  only  t'other  way.  Don't  have  time 
to  chaw.  Ort  to  learn  to  mix  "em  up,  both  on  us. 
Only  livin'  life  once.  Orter  get  all  th'  good  out'n  it." 

It  was  a  long  speech.  He  ceased,  exhausted,  relaps- 
ing into  silent  gloom.  I  tightened  my  saddle  girth, 
then  lighted  my  weed.  My  mare  nosed  expectantly, 
then  rolled  a  reproachful  eye  upon  me. 


THE  ALARM  105 

"Hello,  Mrs.  Holcomb,"  I  called,  as  that  genial 
and  rotund  dame  appeared  in  the  doorway,  "got 
an  apple?  The  mare's  used  to  it."  She  produced 
a  russet  and  the  mare  was  satisfied. 

"Say,  cap'n,"  inquired  Abner  wearily,  as  I  prepared 
to  mount,  "wot  day's  this?" 

"Sunday,  July  the  twelfth,  1812,"  I  replied,  proffer- 
ing the  still  nosing  mare  the  cigar.  She  ceased  to 
nose  and  assumed  a  justified  air  of  distant  dignity. 

"I  know  the  year,"  responded  Abner,  without 
enthusiasm.  "And  Sundays,  I  have  to  keep  track 
o'  them,  too.  I  have  to  drive  Betsey  to  church," 
with  aggrieved  pathos. 

"That  is  sad,"  I  murmured.  Under  the  genial 
glow  of  sympathy  Abner  brightened. 

"Coin'  to  be  trouble  afore  long?"  he  inquired,  as 
I  swung  into  the  saddle. 

"Any  day  may  bring  it,"  I  answered  seriously. 
"Why  don't  you  enlist,  Abner?" 

"Rheumatiz,"  he  replied,  woe  knelling  in  his  tone, 
"and  farm  'd  go  to  hell." 

"If  they  all  talked  your  way,  Abner,"  rejoined  I 
judicially,  "all  their  farms  would  go  there.  They 
wouldn't  own  any  when  the  trouble  would  be  over. 
Redcoats  would  have  'em  all.  We  need  men." 

"You'll  get  'em!"  pealed  a  robust  feminine  voice 
from  the  doorway.  "And  you'll  get  Abner.  He's 
goin'!" 

I  shook  out  the  reins  with  a  laugh,  leaving  Abner 
clawing  disconsolately  at  his  variegated  whisker; 
black,  gathering  gloom  in  his  elongated  face.  In- 
exorable fate  had  knelled  in  Betsey's  tone.  Sooner 
or  later  Abner  would  enlist — and  the  farm  would 
not  suffer.  I  knew  who  ran  the  farm. 

I  speedily  left  behind  me  the  rude  little  farmhouse, 


io6  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

set  in  a  laboriously  made  clearing  among  the 
woodgirt  hills.  Above  me  the  gray,  ghostly,  morn- 
ing mists  were  lifting  sluggishly,  for  I  had  risen  early 
and  breakfasted  in  a  dim,  religious  light.  I  had 
been  for  several  days  among  the  more  remote  ham- 
lets of  the  region,  assisting  in  perfecting  the  organ- 
ization of  the  militia  from  whose  forces  so  much  was 
hoped.  I  had  been  commissioned  by  General  Jacob 
Brown  to  confer  with  those  in  charge  of  the  several 
companies.  Now  all  was  in  readiness.  With  the 
first  blow  that  should  be  struck,  the  call  to  arms 
would  sound  and  the  yeomenry,  summoned  in  haste 
by  mounted  expresses,  artillery  signals,  and  in  case 
of  a  night  attack  by  giant,  flaring  beacons,  would 
rally  from  all  points  of  the  green  valley  of  the 
Kahuahgo  and  its  hemming  hills  to  the  defence  of 
the  threatened  port.  For  the  Harbor,  we  were  con- 
vinced, would  be  the  point  of  attack.  It  was  the 
most  important  key  to  the  frontier. 

I  had  concluded  my  mission  the  previous  day,  and, 
arriving  at  Abner  Holcomb's  place  among  the  Rut- 
land hills,  several  miles  from  Watertown,  had  put 
up  there  for  the  night.  I  desired  to  leave  early  to 
reach  the  Harbor  without  loss  of  time,  as  the  days 
now  brought  added  apprehension,  and  we  chafed 
nervously  and  looked  toward  Frontenac.  I  was 
able  to  gratify  my  wish  for  an  early  departure  with 
no  inconvenience  to  my  entertainers.  Betsey  was 
naturally  an  inordinately  early  riser,  and  as  a  natu- 
ral sequence,  so  was  Abner. 

My  road,  an  indifferent  one  along  which  my  mare 
picked  her  steps  with  caution,  began  winding  sinuous- 
ly up  the  rugged  flank  of  a  giant  hill.  The  grade 
grew  toilsomely  steep  and  I  swung  out  of  the  saddle 
and  strode  on  ahead  of  the  mare,  who  followed  me 


THE  ALARM  107 

like  a  dog.  Reared  and  cherished  from  colthood, 
she  returned  my  warm  regard  in  full  measure  and 
never  failed  me.  It  grew  clearer  as  we  hastened  up- 
ward; the  mists,  like  gemmed  dust,  vanished  in  the 
growing  radiance.  In  the  woods  on  either  side  of 
the  rude  roadway  sounded  the  vague  stirrings  of 
wild  life,  awakened  for  the  day.  A  cool,  sweet  breeze 
blew,  pregnant  with  freshness.  On  we  struggled,  the 
mare  and  I,  as  the  ascent  grew  steeper  and  finally 
stood  breathless  on  the  summit,  the  highest  point 
in  widely  rolling  miles.  It  was  rockribbed  and  bare 
of  trees,  affording  an  unbroken  view  for  leagues  of 
the  outspread  scroll  of  the  valley  of  the  Kahuahgo. 
The  sun,  faintly  lurid  through  the  mist  with  the 
promise  of  a  heated  day,  was  just  clearing  the  eastern 
horizon.  Behind  the  rock  on  which  I  stood  there 
reared  the  dark  crests  of  mighty  forest-bearded  hills, 
eternally  majestic.  In  the  foreground  there  rolled 
a  green,  undulating  sea  of  verdure,  the  Kahuahgo 
valley.  From  the  outer  slopes  of  the  grim,  guarding 
hills  it  stretched  onward  mile  on  mile  to  the  wide 
waters  of  Ontario  and  the  regal  St.  Lawrence  be- 
yond. Just  now  the  mists  writhed  and  curled  in 
vague  billowings  below  me,  a  gray  veil  hiding  the 
wide  water  to  which  my  eyes  instinctively  turned. 
Presently  the  sun  swung  higher,  leering  sardonically 
over  the  shoulder  of  a  monstrous  hill.  The  cohorts 
of  the  mists  were  routed  and  ere  long  there  were 
visible,  cleaving  the  valley  like  a  hand-wide  _"bbc2l3 
glimpses  here  and  there  of  the  tortuous  Kahuahgo, 
flowing  swiftly  to  its  rest  beyond  Fish  Island  in  the 
bay  which  was  christened  for  it.  The  few  tiny  settle- 
ments flung  here  and  there  in  the  green  waste  showed 
in  lilliputian  guise.  My  eyes  swept  the  outspread 
vista  while  I  idly  attempted  to  set  the  probable 


io8  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

exact  location  of  a  certain  cave.  I  gazed  toward 
the  lake,  but  the  gray  mist  still  hung,  an  obscuring 
curtain,  in  that  quarter. 

A  soft  cooing  sounded  near  at  hand.  Looking  up 
I  beheld  a  gray  pigeon,  peering  hither  and  yon  with 
wistful  eyes.  In  a  moment  there  whirred  a  soft 
rush  of  wings.  A  small  flock  of  its  mates  flew  by; 
the  lone  bird  rose  and  winged  away  with  them  to 
the  northward.  The  sight  brought  to  me  a  tender 
memory  which  was  tinged  with  concern.  Why  did 
not  M.  De  Montefort  awaken  to  the  growing  gravity 
of  the  situation  and  seek  safety  with  his  daughter 
at  the  Harbor?  I  felt,  because  of  anxiety,  rather 
angry  with  him.  True,  wild  rumors  of  Indian  in- 
vasions had  sent  many  a  family  in  senseless,  pre- 
mature flight  to  Watertown  and  the  Harbor  during 
the  past  few  months.  I  honored  the  Frenchman 
for  being  of  a  different  stamp.  But  now  the  actual 
need  of  precaution  existed.  War  had  been  declared; 
M.  De  Montefort  must  have  heard  of  it.  His  house 
was  a  rendezvous  for  migrating  woodsmen.  More- 
over, I  was  frankly  interested  in  his  daughter,  which 
doubtless  materially  increased  my  concern.  On  one 
thing  I  was  determined,  which  was  to  secure  leave 
to  go  after  and  bring  them  as  soon  as  possible. 

I  rose  from  the  rock  where  I  had  seated  myself 
during  my  brief  reverie,  absently  stroking  the  sleek 
neck  of  my  mare,  who  stood  quietly  by.  I  looked 
again  toward  the  lake,  miles  away.  The  sun  was 
higher  and  the  mists  had  disappeared.  The  wide 
water,  bright  in  the  sunlight,  lay  outspread  before 
me.  The  atmosphere  was  now  extraordinarily  clear. 
Idly  thrusting  my  hand  into  a  pocket  I  extracted 
a  small  field  glass,  which  I  was  wont  to  carry,  and 
applied  it  to  my  eye.  I  traced  the  arching  sweep 


THE  ALARM  109 

of  the  lake  far  toward  the  point,  some  thirty  miles 
away,  where  it  terminated  in  the  silver  strand  of 
the  St.  Lawrence.  My  gaze  swept  the  grand  pros- 
pect of  wood  and  water  carelessly  at  first,  then 
became  riveted  on  the  far  Kahuahgo  Bay.  I  leaned 
forward,  rigid,  with  strained  eyes. 

For  five  sail  were  entering  the  bay,  close  together, 
headed  for  the  Harbor.  Small  as  they  seemed  at 
that  distance,  like  toys  that  one  could  sail  in  a 
washbasin,  yet  a  warning  premonition  flashed  upon 
me  what  they  were.  These  were  no  fishing  smacks. 
And  even  in  that  instant  there  came  to  my  ears, 
faint  and  far  away,  the  report  of  a  distant  gun, 
the  alarm  at  the  Harbor. 

In  a  trice  I  was  astride  my  horse.  The  way  to 
Watertown  lay  before  me,  down  a  rough  road  that 
threaded  a  breakneck,  precipitous  slope,  holding 
menace  in  the  shape  of  probably  shattered  bones 
and  a  possible  soul-quitting  at  every  stride.  I 
clapped  spurs  to  my  astonished  mare  and  was  off 
like  the  wind. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  Broken  Sabbath 

The  little  gods  who  watch  over  the  reckless  were 
kept  busy  during  that  descent.  The  mare  flew  like 
a  mad  thing,  her  hoofs  spurning  myriads  of  stones 
that  came  rattling  after  us  down  the  slope;  the 
environing  woods  rushed  dizzily  past.  We  reached 
the  bottom  by  a  miracle  in  safety.  I  felt  like  Israel 
Putnam,  whose  escape  ahorse  from  the  enemy  down 
a  rough  series  of  stone  steps,  during  our  former 
argument  with  the  British,  had  become  famous.  The 
mare  now  forged  ahead  at  a  stretching  gallop  for 
Watertown.  We  were  soon  there,  galloping  through 
the  broad  plaza,  bound  for  the  Harbor  highway. 
Men  were  gathering,  startled  and  anxious.  The  faint 
booming  of  alarm  guns  now  sounded  at  regular 
intervals.  The  people  suspected  the  reason,  but 
certitude,  of  course,  was  lacking.  Excited  men  bawled 
inquiries  as  I  swept  past.  I  shouted  the  news  with- 
out slackening  speed  and  left  tumult  in  my  wake. 
But  a  breath  of  time,  and  as  my  mare's  hoofs 
thundered  by  the  arsenal  upon  Columbia  street  and 
out  upon  the  highway  that  led  Harborward,  there 
came  the  long,  sinister  roll  of  drums  and  the  rush- 
ing together  of  eager,  armed  men,  tingling  and 
defiant,  who  would  soon  follow  me.  I  felt  like  Paul 
Revere. 

The  mare,  in  whose  veins  the  war  blood  seemed 


A  BROKEN  SABBATH  in 

also  to  tingle,  forged  on  with  undiminished  stride. 
I  shouted  my  news  at  every  house  I  encountered, 
producing  all  the  sensation  I  could  have  hoped  for. 
Presently  I  met  a  mounted  express,  tearing  along 
in  wild-eyed  excitement  to  bear  the  tidings  to  Water- 
town.  I  called  that  I  had  already  borne  them,  but 
he  was  too  distraught  to  heed  me  and  kept  on. 

As  I  neared  the  port  I  encountered  other  couriers 
bound  for  various  points,  as  well  as  some  cowardly 
settlers  who  with  their  families  were  driving  in 
hot  haste  away  from  the  scene  of  the  impending 
trouble.  To  the  people's  credit  be  it  said  that  these 
cases  were  few,  for  the  most  of  the  citizens  rallied 
most  gallantly  to  the  support  of  the  militia  and 
small  detachment  of  regulars.  Indeed,  they  fell  to 
and  labored  with  their  own  hands  in  the  preparation 
of  the  scanty  defences  and  later  united  with  the 
yeomenry  in  bawling  defiance  from  the  bluff. 

Dashing  at  last  into  the  Harbor,  I  drew  up  at  the 
stable,  dismounted  and  gave  my  sweating  mare  into 
the  hands  of  the  hostler.  Then  I  hastened  to  the 
house. 

Dorothy  met  me  at  the  door,  courageously  cool. 
A  leonine  heart  she  had  for  all  of  its  woman's 
tenderness. 

"Why,  Gillie!"  she  cried  surprisedly.  "Where  did 
you  come  from?  And  you're  gray  with  dust.'* 

"  I  am  the  Paul  Revere  of  this  war,"  I  explained, 
"also  the  Israel  Putnam,"  and  I  told  her  of  it. 
"Keep  up  heart,  my  girl,"  I  enjoined. 

"  Gilbert,"  she  answered  with  a  bright  smile,  "  while 
a  woman  I  am  yet  a  Warburton.  The  name  is  still 
unchanged."  Whereupon  I  bestowed  upon  her  a 
fraternal  if  dusty  kiss. 

I   went   into   the  living  room,  where  my  helpless 


ii2    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

father  was  sitting,  and  moved  his  reclining  chair  up 
to  the  window,  which  commanded  an  unobstructed 
view  of  the  bluff  and  the  bay  beyond,  in  order  that 
he  might  have  whatever  sight  his  old  eyes  might 
vouchsafe  him  of  that  day.  He  clasped  my  hand 
eloquently. 

"I  but  wish  I  could  be  with  you,  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  my  son,"  he  said,  a  world  of  pathos  in  his 
tone.  I  inclined  my  head  silently,  the  brine  very 
near  my  eyes.  Then  I  left  the  house,  hurrying  to- 
ward the  bluff. 

Everywhere  was  activity  and  the  confusion  of 
hurried  preparation.  Scattered  detachments  of  near- 
by militia  were  already  arriving.  Alarm  guns  still 
boomed,  their  thunder  rolling  for  miles  up  the  valley 
of  the  Kahuahgo,  the  echoes  reverberating  among  its 
hundred  hills.  The  peals  electrified  the  militia  which 
had  long  awaited  the  signal,  and  when  the  expresses 
reached  them  they  found  many  of  the  companies 
ready  to  start,  the  women,  children  and  old  men 
vicing  to  wish  them  godspeed.  As  it  transpired  they 
remained  mostly  idle,  for  there  occurred  no  oppor- 
tunity that  day  for  the  use  of  small  arms.  But  they 
mingled  with  the  cheering  throng  gathered  on  the 
bluff  and  joined  in  the  exultation  that  followed  the 
engagement. 

Hurrying  upon  an  errand,  I  presently  came  across 
Sergeant  Cyrenus,  who  saluted  and  reported  my 
company  assembled.  "You're  shy  on  lootenants, 
Cap'n,"  he  grinned,  "so  I've  done  what  I  could.  I 
gathered  'em  in." 

I  made  suitable  acknowledgement  and  inquired  into 
the  circumstances  of  the  visit,  as  far  as  transpired. 

"Came  at  sun-up,"  answered  the  little  man. 
"After  the  Oneida,  I  guess.  Get  the  whole  navy 


A  BROKEN  SABBATH  113 

if  they  corral  her,"  he  grinned.  Indeed,  there  was 
little  else  as  yet.  "You  know,"  he  continued,  "she 
was  moored  just  inside  the  harbor.  Well,  Cap'n 
Woolsey  dumb  her  masthead  this  morning  with  his 
glass  to  his  eye  and  seen  the  five  o'  them  comin'  into 
the  bay.  He  sends  Lootenant  Blair  ashore  to  tell 
Colonel  Bellinger,  after  which  the  news  is  whooped  all 
over  the  place  while  Woolsey  cuts  loose  the  Oneida 
and  noses  around  to  try  and  make  the  open  lake 
and  slip  'em.  She  slips  around  the  point  and  stands 
up  the  bay,  but  the  five  of  'em  is  on  the  lookout  for 
her,  so  Woolsey  brings  her  back.  She's  moored  now 
just  outside  the  point.  Nine  of  her  guns  is  snoutin* 
up  the  bay  and  the  boats  took  the  other  nine  over 
here.  Got  'em  perched  up  on  that  breastwork," 
pointing. 

I  hurried  to  the  bluff,  where  a  large  number  of 
militiamen  and  citizens  were  busy  on  the  breastwork. 
I  soon  found  enough  to  do  and  perspired  with  the 
rest  of  them.  Womenfolk  were  there  in  plenty,  star- 
ing out  upon  the  bay,  anxious  but  undismayed. 

The  British  fleet  had  laid-to  a  couple  of  miles  away. 
A  quintet  of  union  jacks  flapped  at  the  mastheads. 
We  noticed  that  they  had  with  them  a  small  vessel, 
evidently  one  of  our  own,  captured  on  the  lake.  As 
we  gazed  we  noticed  a  boat  leaving  the  flagship,  the 
Royal  George.  An  officer  sat  in  the  stern,  rowed 
rapidly  toward  us  by  a  crew  of  jackies.  Another 
boat  put  after  the  first.  Both  stopped  alongside 
our  captured  craft,  taking  in  its  crew.  Then  they 
kept  on  toward  the  bluff. 

A  herculean  figure  passed  us  from  the  direction  of 
headquarters  and  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  bluff, 
standing  waiting  with  folded  arms  for  the  approach- 
ng  boats.  It  was  John. 


H4  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

The  boats  drew  near  to  us,  finally  halting  close 
under  the  lee  of  the  bluff,  the  tars  resting  on  their 
oars.  The  officer  stood  up,  facing  my  huge  comrade. 
I  noticed  that  his  eyes  lighted  with  appreciation  of 
the  giant's  dimensions, 

"Sir,"  said  he  affably,  "I  am  Lieutenant  Wether- 
spoon,  of  the  Royal  George  at  present,  and  repre- 
senting Commodore  Earle  in  command  of  His 
Majesty's  fleet  yonder.  These  men,"  indicating  the 
prisoners,  "  form  the  crew  of  a  captured  vessel,  loaded 
with  flour,  bound  for  Port  Putnam.  The  craft  had 
the  fortune  to  fall  in  with  us  in  her  own  waters  this 
morning.  We  shall  retain  the  flour  but  not  the  men, 
who  would  help  only  to  eat  it.  So  we  return  the 
men  to  you." 

"I,  sir,  am  Captain  Godfrey,  representing  Colonel 
Bellinger,  who  is  in  charge  here  at  present,"  returned 
John,  as  the  released  crew  splashed  to  shore  and 
were  assisted  up  the  face  of  the  bluff  with  ropes  in 
the  hands  of  the  militiamen.  "  I  thank  you  for  your 
courtesy  in  furnishing  us  with  these  happily  arrived 
assistants,  for  truth  to  tell,  we  need  all  we  can  get. 
Their  disposition,  however,  I  will  venture  to  hazard, 
was  of  secondary  importance.  May  I  inquire  the 
main  object  of  your  call  this  beautiful  Sabbath 
morning?" 

"My  commander,"  returned  the  other,  grinning 
pleasantly  at  John,  "delegates  me  to  say  that  he 
has  come  for  yonder  craft,"  indicating  the  Oneida, 
"which  you  have  been  at  such  pains  to  fit  out  for 
His  Majesty's  service.  He  further  commissions  me  to 
assure  you  that  if  a  gun  is  fired  to  molest  him,  he 
will  do  himself  the  pleasure  of  burning  your  village 
and  exterminating  yourselves." 

"I  fear  it  is    the    weakness  of  your  commander 


A  BROKEN  SABBATH  115 

to  deal  in  dreams  rather  than  actualities,"  replied 
John,  dryly.  "Our  preparations  are  crude,  but  I 
think  they  will  do.  You  may  say  to  your  chief, 
Lieutenant,  that  if  he  wants  the  Oneida,  why,  let  him 
come  and  take  her !  Also,  if  he  would  burn  the 
village  he  must  first  enter  it!" 

A  cheer  burst  from  the  soldiery  on  the  bluff.  The 
lieutenant  bowed  and  his  jackies  rowed  him  back  to 
the  flagship,  followed  by  the  other  boat  which  had 
assisted  in  bringing  over  the  captured  crew  of  the 
bark  yonder.  Her  custodians  gazed  with  melting 
affection  at  the  Old  Sow,  then  shook  their  fists  at 
her  provender. 

Who  and  what  was  the  Old  Sow?  Topping  a  six- 
foot  mound  which  had  been  made  ready  for  it,  there 
perched  on  its  pivots  a  grim  old  gun  which  the  day 
was  to  make  famous,  for  out  of  her  hoarse  throat 
was  to  sound  the  first  guttural  growl  of  the  war 
which  broke  on  this  historic  Sabbath.  This  gun,  a 
thirty-two  pounder,  was  originally  intended  for  the 
Oneida,  but  being  found  too  heavy  it  had  been  added 
to  the  land  battery,  after  having  lain  in  the  mud 
near  the  shore  for  a  long  period  succeeding  the  brig's 
rejectment  of  it.  Colonel  Bellinger  rescued  it  from  its 
inglorious  retirement  and  had  it  mounted  on  its 
mound,  where  it  now  rested,  staring  sulkily  out  upon 
the  lake.  While  it  was  rolling  in  the  mud  some 
irreverent  wag  had  christened  the  big  piece  the  "Old 
Sow,"  and  the  name  stuck.  But  it  was  written  that 
before  the  sun  fell  her  grunts  were  to  make  her 
glorious. 

She  looked  formidable  enough,  being  by  far  the 
largest  piece  in  our  armament.  There  was  but  one 
drawback  to  her  effectiveness,  which  was  an  absence 
of  any  proper  ammunition  for  her.  It  had  been 


n6  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

written  for  repeatedly,  but,  like  many  other  things, 
had  not  arrived.  In  lieu  of  anything  heavier,  a  pile 
of  twenty-four -pound  balls  rested  near  her.  Those  in 
charge  eyed  the  inadequate  munitions  with  disfavor 
and  cursed  the  gun  and  the  government  impartially 
when  they  learned  that  no  better  ammunition  was 
available. 

Now  the  Old  Sow  was  in  capable  hands  that  day, 
being  in  charge  of  Sailingmaster  William  Vaughan,  a 
man  of  parts  and  of  passionate  perseverance  at  times 
like  these.  He  was  ably  assisted,  and  to  Vaughan 
and  his  mates  should  be  accorded  a  deathless  fame, 
for  they  saw  to  the  belching  forth  of  the  first  note 
of  defiance  in  that  storied  war.  But  just  now 
Vaughan,  Parkinson  and  the  rest  stood  dubiously 
eyeing  the  puny  twenty-four-pound  balls  and  the 
gaping,  hungry  muzzle  of  the  Old  Sow  and  cursed, 
for  she  required  pills  and  they  had  only  pellets.  They 
cursed,  I  say,  but  mildly,  for  they  were  passably  godly 
men.  Moreover,  relief  was  to  come  by  unique  means, 
means  that  Vaughan  and  his  mates  might  not  yet 
know. 

Finally,  after  what  seemed  an  interminable  time, 
the  five  hostile  ships  got  under  way  and  moved  up 
for  the  attack.  The  Royal  George,  carrying  twenty- 
four  guns  and  two  hundred  and  sixty  men,  led  the 
procession,  followed  in  turn  by  the  Seneca,  Prince 
Regent,  Earl  of  Moira  and  Simcoe,  mounting  to- 
gether eighty  guns  more.  Arrived  at  an  easy  dis- 
tance away,  they  wheeled,  bringing  their  broadsides 
to  bear  on  us.  The  Royal  George  was  to  sail  past 
the  bluff  and  rake  us.  If  anything  was  left  standing 
the  Seneca  was  to  follow,  and  so  on. 

Captain  Woolsey,  leaving  the  Oneida  in  charge 
of  a  lieutenant,  had  taken  general  command  of  the 


A  BROKEN  SABBATH  117 

batteries  on  shore,  being  assisted  by  Captain  Camp, 
John,  myself  and  some  others.  The  state  of  the  Old 
Sow,  too,  in  regard  to  her  insufficient  rations,  had 
been  noticed  and  she  was  provided  for  from  a  source 
entirely  unexpected. 

Shortly  before  the  battle  commenced,  while  Vaughan 
and  his  mates  were  disconsolately  scratching  their 
heads  over  the  Old  Sow  and  the  proposed  contents 
of  her  belly,  they  were  approached  by  Widow  Hank- 
inson  with  a  word  for  Vaughan's  ear.  They  drew 
apart  from  the  others,  the  widow  addressing  William 
earnestly. 

A  windy  sigh  exploded  at  my  right  hand.  I  turned 
to  behold  Noadiah,  rapt  eyes  fixed  upon  the  widow, 
his  face  glowing  with  fleshy  admiration.  Noadiah 
was  evidently  impressed.  Attracted  by  his  ardent 
gaze,  the  widow's  eyes  stole  a  side-long  glance  at  the 
veteran.  Then  they  were  modestly  averted  as  she 
continued  her  talk  with  Vaughan.  Noadiah  sighed 
again,  most  prodigiously,  and  turned  to  me. 

"There's  a  woman!"  he  exclaimed  with  conviction. 
I  nodded  gravely.  It  was  indubitable. 

The  widow's  communication  had  been  of  moment, 
for  Vaughan  was  nodding  his  head  with  a  curious 
grin.  The  widow  whisked  her  buxom  self  toward  the 
village,  with  an  arch  look  toward  Noadiah  that  pro- 
voked another  sigh,  eclipsing  the  others. 

A  little  later  there  was  heard  in  the  homes  of  the 
hamlet  a  curious  sound  of  rending  and  tearing.  The 
fruitage  of  the  sacrifice  was  borne  to  the  Old  Sow  by 
the  patriotic  women.  There  was  much  enwrapping 
and  shrouding  and  the  twenty-four-pound  balls,  by 
the  grace  of  God  and  torn  carpets,  were  become 
thirty-twos.  Gunner  Parkinson  rammed  one  of  them 
home  and  cried  out  that  a  prayer  went  with  it. 


n8  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

The  Royal  George  had  just  come  within  range,  her 
gunners  preparing  to  sound  the  first  grim  note  of 
the  war.  Parkinson  anticipated  them.  The  match 
was  applied,  there  was  a  flash  and  a  thunderous  roar, 
and  the  first  defiant  shot  of  the  historic  struggle 
belched  out,  swathed  in  glory,  smoke  and  carpet 
rags. 

It  fell  harmlessly  in  the  water,  far  short  of  the  flag- 
ship, whose  crew  yelled  with  derision  and  replied  with 
a  broadside  which  struck  the  face  of  the  bluff,  far 
down,  between  grass  and  water.  Whereat  the  town's 
defenders  in  turn  retaliated  with  sneering  outcries. 

The  affair  then  began  in  earnest.  For  two  hours 
there  was  incessant  thunder.  The  militia  could  do 
nothing,  as  the  distance  was  too  great  for  small  arms, 
so  they  stood  behind  the  breastworks  and  watched 
the  drama.  Thousands  were  gathered  by  this  time, 
drawn  by  the  news  that  had  flown  on  the  wind's 
wings;  spectators  watching  the  broad  arena  of  land 
and  sea;  praying  for  victory  yet  helpless  to  assist; 
cursing  the  enemy ;  trembling  and  torn  with  the  frenzy 
of  that  summer  day. 

John  and  I,  with  some  picked  men  from  our  com- 
panies, were  helping  the  gunners,  who  were  short  of 
capable  assistants.  John  had  Sergeant  Noadiah;  I 
had  Sergeant  Cyrenus.  Each  veteran  worked  like  a 
machine,  cool  as  an  automaton,  but  neither  looked 
toward  the  other. 

Not  much  damage  had  yet  been  done,  though  the 
British  seemed  to  cherish  an  antipathy  toward  the 
luckless  bluff  and  were  literally  pounding  the  face  off 
it.  Hardly  any  of  their  balls  came  over  the  brink. 
As  for  our  battery,  the  only  really  formidable  gun  it 
boasted  was  the  Old  Sow,  and  Vaughan  had  demon- 
strated to  his  intense  disgust  that  it  was  hard  to 


A  BROKEN  SABBATH  119 

obtain  a  proper  range  with  the  swaddled  rations  he 
was  obliged  to  feed  her.  A  few  shots,  however,  had 
had  some  effect,  but  he  prayed  viciously  for  just  one 
thirty -two  pound  ball.  And  at  last  he  got  it. 

A  big  thirty -two  from  the  Royal  George,  which  car- 
ried some  large  guns,  cleared  the  bluff,  ploughing  a 
deep  furrow  in  the  ground  and  lying  there,  harming 
nobody.  In  a  twinkling  Noadiah  caught  it  up, 
scampering  like  an  unwieldy  boy  toward  William 
Vaughan. 

"The  redcoats  can't  play  ball!"  he  yelled.  "I've 
caught  'em  out !  See  if  they  can  catch  back  again  !" 

There  was  envy  in  the  face  of  Cyrenus  as  I  glanced 
at  him.  And  more,  for  I  caught  the  eyes  of  Noadiah 
slyly  at  corners,  peering  at  the  crowd.  Sure  enough, 
there  stood  the  widow,  a  plump  hand  violently  brand- 
ishing a  handkerchief,  her  cheer  mingling  with  the 
rest.  And  Noadiah  straightened  pompously  and 
thrust  out  the  great  folds  of  his  cheeks. 

Meanwhile  all  was  animation  about  the  Old  Sow. 
Black  Julius,  of  her  crew,  a  herculean  negro  and  then 
a  novelty  in  that  section,  being  moreover  one  of  the 
most  gallant  fellows  I  ever  met,  showed  a  fortune  in 
ivory  and  hugged  his  ebony  body,  dripping  with 
sweat  and  naked  to  the  waist. 

"  Ho,  ho  !"  he  shouted,  pointing  to  the  fleet.  "  Fo' 
Gawd,  massas,  now  de  Old  Sow  grunt  hawg  fo' 
suah!" 

It  was  even  so.  The  crew  rammed  the  captured  ball 
home,  aiming  carefully  at  the  flagship.  That  grunt 
struck  the  stern  of  the  Royal  George  and  raked  her 
deck,  a  cloud  of  splinters  flying  clear  to  her  mizzen 
topsail.  We  learned  later  that  fourteen  men  were 
killed  and  eighteen  wounded  by  the  shot. 

The  bombardment  from  the  circling  ships  was  now 


i2o  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

redoubled.  They  smarted  yonder,  and  small  wonder, 
with  a  desire  to  retaliate.  But  few  of  their  shots, 
however,  because  of  defective  aiming,  were  of  any 
evident  effect.  As  yet  we  had  suffered  no  casualties. 
At  the  peak  of  the  flagstaff,  set  that  very  morning 
through  a  happy  thought  upon  the  redoubt  that 
sheltered  the  crew  of  the  Old  Sow,  waved  defiantly 
the  stripes  and  stars  for  whose  honor  we  fought 
that  day — and  for  which  our  sons  and  their  sons' 
sons  will  fight  forever. 

Suddenly  a  ball  from  a  gun  of  the  Royal  George 
hurtled  high  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  There  was  a 
splintering  of  wood,  and  the  flagstaff,  trembling  to 
its  base,  was  denuded  of  half  its  length,  the  tip,  with 
the  flag  adhering  to  it  still,  tumbling  to  the  ground. 
A  yell  of  derisive  triumph  came  from  the  flagship. 

Several  of  us  who  were  near  by  sprang  to  recover 
the  banner.  Ere  we  could  do  so,  there  was  a  rush 
forward  from  among  the  cloud  of  spectators  who 
stood  behind  the  breastworks.  A  pair  of  eager  hands 
caught  up  the  trailing  flag,  a  lithe  young  form  sprang 
to  the  Old  Sow's  mound.  And  there,  with  flashing 
eyes  and  a  dauntless,  fiery  zeal ;  with  one  hand  rest- 
ing on  the  ancient  gun  and  the  other  defiantly  wav- 
ing the  glorious  bunting  in  the  very  faces  of  its  foes ; 
an  embodied  goddess  of  that  liberty  for  which  we 
have  fought  and  will  fight  until  the  end,  the  liberty 
whose  spirit  is  woven  in  every  thread  and  fibre  of 
the  flag  we  love ;  there  stood  Dorothy ! 

So  she  stood,  nor  had  a  thought  of  self  or  fear, 
while  the  din  grew  strangely  still  upon  the  wide  water 
and  the  land.  Nor  did  she  seem  to  realize  the  sudden 
silence  or  its  import  until,  from  the  decks  of  the 
Royal  George  and  the  others  of  the  king's  ships 
there  pealed,  as  with  one  voice,  a  ringing  cheer,  a 


A  BROKEN  SABBATH  121 

cheer  that  was  echoed  cleafcningly  by  the  throngs 
now  gathered  on  the  bluff.  And  thus  recalled  to 
earth,  poor  Dorothy,— a  goddess  no  longer,  but  a 
shrinking  maid,  aghast  at  the  sensation  her  inspired 
act  of  patriotism  had  created, — thrust  the  banner  con- 
fusedly into  the  hands  of  Gunner  Parkinson  and 
blushing  fled  away. 

It  was  enough.  The  flagship  had  already  suffered 
seriously  and  so  had  two  of  her  companions.  Even 
as  we  looked  the  signal  for  retreat  was  shown  and 
the  demoralized  fleet,  headed  by  the  Royal  George 
with  the  discomfited  Earle  sailed  for  the  open  that 
led  to  Frontenac.  Not  a  Yankee  had  been  killed  or 
wounded. 

Delirium  reigned.  The  regimental  band  played 
"Yankee  Doodle"  and  the  soldiery  and  citizenry 
cheered  till  their  throats  might  bear  no  more.  They 
gathered  about  our  home  and  yelled  for  Dorothy, 
who  dared  not  appear  and  begged  me  to  send  them 
away,  while  I  laughed. 

And  so  ended  the  first  battle  of  the  war  of  1812, 
of  which  it  has  been  said,  with  grim  humor,  that 
the  British  broke  nothing  in  it  but  the  Sabbath. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
Two  Graves 

Through  a  dense,  whispering  canopy  of  leaves  the 
sun  shot  uncertain  lances  of  wavering  light.  Wood 
creatures  scattered  at  our  approach,  startled  by  the 
crackling  of  twigs  and  the  soft  padding  of  our  foot- 
steps in  the  spongy  soil.  A  little  away  sounded  the 
murmurous  river,  brawling  softly  over  its  shallows. 
The  July  sun  flamed  fiercely  in  a  sky  whose  blue 
showed  in  tiny  patches  through  the  interstices  of  the 
wooded  roof.  Here  was  a  hallowed  coolness.  The 
tempered  shade  was  refreshing,  for  it  was  stifling  in 
the  open. 

The  drowsy  peace  of  a  forest  afternoon,  the  dron- 
ing calm  that  dreams  where  the  shadows  waver, 
stole  in  upon  us  as  we  strode.  Our  jaded  spirits  were 
revived.  The  Sabbatarian  quiet  refreshed  our  senses, 
dulled  with  din  and  wearied  with  the  incessant  strain 
of  months.  In  this  dim,  weird  world,  rich  in  royal 
green,  sentient  and  shadowed,  the  drama  of  but  three 
days  gone  seemed  a  remote  and  unreal  thing.  The 
salient  bluff,  sullenly  barricaded ;  the  breathless  crowds 
that  bawled  defiance  from  its  brink;  the  circling 
ships;  the  diapason  of  the  cannonade;  we  might 
have  dreamed  them  all.  The  echoes  of  that  fiendish 
saturnalia  of  sound,  still  muttering  dimly  in  our 
brains,  seemed  in  these  woods  a  profanation. 

"We  are  almost  there,  John,"  I  called  to  the  giant 


TWO  GRAVES  123 

who  preceded  me.  "Somehow  I  feel  gloomy,  a 
presentiment — 

"Don't  be  a  woman,  Gilbert,"  he  boomed  back  at 
me.  "  'Sufficient  unto  the  day,'  you  know.  We  shall 
be  the  first  to  tell  them  of  last  Sunday's  services." 

"God  grant  it,"  I  muttered,  but  could  not  shake 
off  the  depression  that  gathered  with  every  step. 

We  had  secured  leave  immediately  after  the  battle 
to  make  this  journey.  Our  anxiety  was  keen  at  the 
failure  of  M.  De  Montefort  and  his  daughter  to  reach 
the  Harbor,  and  we  had  set  out  to  find  how  they 
were  faring.  We  had  stopped  at  the  intervening 
settlements,  but  nothing  had  been  seen  of  them  and 
we  were  now  nearly  to  the  cabin. 

John's  hound,  Gypso,  accompanied  us,  running 
ahead  and  sniffing  in  the  manner  of  his  nosey  tribe. 
Suddenly  he  bayed  and  bounded  forward,  disappear- 
ing in  the  thick  foliage. 

"The  cabin  is  just  ahead,"  said  John,  pausing  in  his 
rapid  walk.  "You  see  it  is  all  right.  The  hound  has 
run  to  meet  them."  We  hurried  on. 

A  few  moments  and  we  emerged  into  the  clearing. 
The  fierce  sunlight  made  us  blink  after  the  dim,  re- 
ligious shade  of  the  woods.  We  hurried  to  the  cabin,  ex- 
pectant. The  door  idled,  swinging  wide  open.  I  looked 
for  Renee  to  emerge  in  welcome  from  the  interior. 

We  entered.  The  hound  was  aimlessly  nosing  about 
the  living  room.  No  one  greeted  us.  The  place  was 
still,  still  as  the  grave.  Only  the  outer  twittering  of 
birds ;  the  cawing  of  passing  crows.  We  listened  for 
a  remembered  voice,  but  none  came.  An  odd  sense  of 
desolation  rested  in  the  room,  desolation  gray  and 
dreary.  I  noticed  with  a  shock  that  the  furniture 
was  dull  with  dust ;  that  a  window  had  been  broken, 
the  glass  strewing  the  unswept  floor. 


124  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

I  stepped  to  the  little  kitchen,  built  off  an  end  of  the 
living  room.  The  evidence  of  desertion  was  unmis- 
takable. The  ashes  of  a  dead  fire,  cold  and  gray, 
the  rusting  utensils,  told  of  long  inattention. 

I  stared  stupidly,  hardly  comprehending,  when  I 
heard  a  low  exclamation  from  John.  He  was  bending 
over  the  floor,  examining  something  at  which  the 
hound  was  sniffing.  There  were  dark,  sanguinary 
blots  there,  dulled  splotches  of  blood.  Our  faces 
blanched. 

"We  must  look  outside,"  John  said,  and  led  the 
way.  Like  a  somnambulist  I  followed  him. 

As  we  stepped  out  upon  the  porch  my  eyes  fell 
upon  a  little  book  lying  there.  I  glanced  at  the 
title  and  the  rush  of  a  tender  memory  brought  again 
the  spell  of  an  autumn  day,  I  lay  again  drowsily 
watching  a  radiant  face,  the  low  music  of  a  woman's 
voice  fell  faint  and  far  away  and  the  impalpable 
veil  of  sleep  settled  down  like  mist  upon  me.  I 
slipped  the  little  book  into  my  pocket.  A  terror 
of  foreboding  seized  me  and  left  me  shaking. 

John  stood  still  and  scowling  upon  the  porch,  gaz- 
ing about  the  clearing  before  us.  Suddenly  he  grasped 
my  arm,  pointing  silently. 

About  a  dozen  feet  away  were  the  marks  of  a 
struggle.  The  ground  was  trampled,  the  bruised 
grasses  trodden  into  the  soil.  In  a  moment  we  were 
on  the  spot.  John's  keen  eyes  immediately  espied 
something  which  he  indicated,  a  grim  sternness  gather- 
ing about  his  mouth.  It  was  the  impress  of  a  de- 
formed foot,  damningly  distinct  in  the  brown  soil, 
as  plain  as  when  first  made,  no  rain  having  fallen 
for  days. 

"That  fiend!"  I  burst  out,  my  voice  shaking. 
"John,  why  did  you  not  kill  him?" 


TWO  GRAVES  125 

His  face  went  gray  but  he  did  not  answer. 

"It  cannot  be  too  late!"  I  cried,  clutching  his  arm. 
"They  must  have  been  here  only  recently,  else  the 
mark  would  be  obliterated !  Perhaps  we  may  over- 
take them!" 

"You  forget,  Gilbert,"  he  answered.  "It  has  been 
very  dry.  Still  we  can  tell  if  the  trail  is  fresh.  Gyp- 
so!"  he  called.  The  hound  came  bounding  to  him 
from  the  rear  of  the  cabin.  Godfrey  indicated  the 
foot-print.  The  hound  sniffed,  moved  ahead  a  few 
feet  and  paused,  baffled. 

"It  is  an  old  trail,"  said  John,  "but  see,  the  dog 
moves  to  the  north.  That  hellhound  and  his  red 
curs  are  long  since  back  in  Canada.  If  he  were  here 
now,"  his  voice  grown  snarling,  "I  would  rip  him 
in  two,  though  God  cursed  me!" 

"Though  God  cursed  you!"  I  repeated,  stupefied. 
"That  beast!  That  monstrous  vile  toad!" 

"You  do  not  know,"  he  muttered,  turning  away. 
I  regarded  him  curiously,  even  in  the  midst  of  my 
torturing  fears.  What  unknown  thing  lay  between 
these  two? 

The  hound  had  again  disappeared  behind  the  cabin. 
We  followed  him,  thinking  perhaps  to  find  a  clew  to 
the  mystery. 

The  dog  was  at  the  edge  of  the  woods.  He  was 
whining  softly  and  scratching  at  the  ground,  brown 
clods  flying  out  behind  him. 

We  drew  nearer  and  saw  something  that  chilled  our 
blood.  Before  us  lay  two  mounds,  the  surmounting 
forest  earth  still  fresh  upon  them.  We  drew  near  fear- 
fully, Godfrey  snatching  the  hound  away. 

They  lay  just  within  some  low  underbrush.  A 
rude  wooden  slab,  doing  duty  for  both  of  them,  waS 
dimly  visible  through  the  leaves.  Dashing  aside  the 


126  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

screening  bushes  we  beheld  the  board,  on  which  had 
been  rudely  marked  with  charcoal  the  words : 

VINCENT  DE  MONTEFORT 

and 

RENEE,  HIS  DAUGHTER. 
June  29,  1812. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  I  stood  petrified,  gazing 
straight  before  me  with  the  stare  that  lies  in  the  eyes 
of  the  dead  ere  the  lids  are  closed  down  forever. 
There  comes  a  moment  into  the  lives  of  most  of  us 
into  which  seems  rolled  all  the  agony  of  the  ages ;  a 
moment  in  which  the  numb  misery  of  all  time,  since  its 
beginning,  is  bursting  the  brain  while  the  heart  sheds 
tears  of  blood.  It  is  a  horrible,  soul-affrighting  thing, 
a  blackness  of  stupefying  darkness  across  which 
writhes  a  single  bolt  of  light;  the  livid  lightning- 
flash  of  realization  of  what  a  nightmare  a  bereft 
eternity  must  be. 

I  was  dimly  aware  of  John  grasping  my  hand.  I 
looked  dully  into  his  pitying  eyes  that  searched  my 
own.  Then,  divining  that  I  was  in  hell,  he  left  me, 
saying  no  word. 

After  a  little  I  stretched  my  arms  across  the  graves, 
my  eyes  hard  and  burning  in  my  stony  face.  "O, 
God!"  I  breathed,  despair  and  rebellion  writhing 
within  me,  "she  saved  my  life.  And  I — I  came  too 
late!" 

I  flung  myself  face  down  in  the  grass,  trying  to 
forget — and  to  remember.  The  breeze  crooned  in  the 
leaves,  the  smell  of  ferns  came  fragrant  from  the 
shadows,  there  was  the  song  of  birds. 

It  grew  intolerable.    I  struggled  to  my  feet,  and  as 


TWO  GRAVES  127 

if  dazed,  walked  past  the  cabin  to  the  tortuous  little 
path  that  led  to  the  river  and  hurried  along  it,  reel- 
ing like  a  dnunken  man,  tripping  and  falling  headlong 
over  roots  and  dead  trunks,  indifferent  to  my  bruises. 
There  was  a  stealthy  step  behind  me,  but  I  did  not 
turn. 

I  had  reached  the  rendezvous,  the  spot  where  Renee 
had  kept  tryst  with  her  birds  in  the  long  summers. 
How  I  had  pictured  her  a  thousand  times,  threading 
her  way  daily  to  the  river,  as  the  days  lengthened 
and  the  waters  rose,  freighted  with  their  outgoing 
crust  of  strangling  ice.  There  she  was  wont  to  stand 
expectant,  her  eyes  to  the  southward.  There  she  had 
waited  for  the  spring  to  bring  them,  her  birds,  and 
finally  they  had  come  and  she  was  lost  to  view  in 
the  center  of  a  white  billowing  cloud.  Did  they 
grieve  at  her  neglect  now,  I  wondered  dully.  Had 
they  come  daily  to  the  spot,  to  coo  mournfully  in 
vain,  finally  to  wheel  sorrowfully  and  soar  away, 
hurt  because  forgotten?  Forgotten?  Perhaps,  but 
only  because  the  dear  eyes  that  had  watched  for 
their  coming,  with  the  fond  light  in  them,  were  for- 
ever closed;  only  because  the  little  hands  that  had 
fed  them  were  eternally  at  rest.  My  eyes  stung;  I 
gazed  at  the  little  river  through  blinding  tears. 

A  little  longer  and  I  returned  to  the  cabin.  I  heard 
a  rustling  some  distance  in  front  of  me,  but  John  was 
seated  on  the  porch  when  I  emerged  into  the  clearing. 

We  sat  sadly  for  a  time,  saying  nothing.  "Who 
found  and  cared  for  them,  I  wonder,  "  I  said  at  last. 
.  "I  think  it  was  probably  some  wandering  hunter, 
perhaps  some  one  who  had  known  and  loved  them," 
he  answered,  "and  he  saw  to  it  that  they  were  laid 
at  rest.  The  date  is  probably  that  of  burial." 

For  a  time  we  sat  in  unbroken  silence,  the  hound 


iz8  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

at  our  feet,  watching  us  mournfully.  Finally  we  rose, 
and  without  looking  back,  shouldered  our  packs  and 
rifles  and  retraced  our  steps  across  the  clearing  and 
into  the  dim  woods. 


CHAPTER  XV 
In  the  Lion's  Jaws 

I  pushed  my  plate  away  impatiently.  "No,  Dor- 
othy!" I  exclaimed,  almost  roughly,  "I  tell  you  I 
do  not  want  it!  Please  take  it  away!" 

My  sister  reached  tentatively  for  the  dainty  dish 
she  had  prepared.  Her  eyes  filled  and  her  sweet 
young  face  was  troubled.  "  I  am  sorry,  Gilbert,  but 
I  thought "  she  faltered. 

I  caught  her  hand.  "Forgive  me,  Dorothy!"  I 
burst  out.  "  I  am  a  brute,  but  I  am  very  miserable." 

Leaving  my  barely  tasted  supper,  I  hastily  left  the 
house,  encountering  John  outside. 

We  walked  to  the  main  street  and  proceeded  to  the 
quarters  of  our  companies.  It  had  been  four  days 
since  we  returned  from  the  cabin,  four  interminable 
days  for  me.  My  grief  was  a  stone  that  weighed  me 
down,  I  brooded  constantly.  John  had  tried  tactfully 
to  bring  me  out  of  myself,  but  the  wound  was  still 
too  raw.  My  father  and  sister  had  remarked  my 
depression,  but  I  knew  that  they  ascribed  it  to  the 
natural  sadness  I  felt  at  arriving  too  late  to  be  of  aid 
to  friends  who  had  so  well  served  me  in  time  of  trou- 
ble, though  I  think  that  Dorothy,  with  her  woman's 
perception,  probed  deeper  and  understood  in  part 
the  blow  which  had  fallen  upon  me.  Her  manner 
to  me  was  tender  in  those  days,  evidencing  a  com- 
passion which  I  appreciated  at  times. 


i3 o  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

As  John  and  I  approached  the  quarters  we  accosted 
a  curious  character,  who  stopped,  extending  a  skinny, 
yellow  hand,  whining  for  alms.  Her  rapacious  talons 
clutched  the  resultant  offering  as  if  they  would  never 
let  it  go.  Her  toothless  jaws  gaped  in  a  senile  smile. 

"God  save  you  for  Christians,  gentlemen,"  she 
croaked.  "I  must  have  a  crust  and  a  pallet  some- 
wheres  and  few  are  the  coppers  I  get  to  pay  for 
'em,"  and  she  blinked  rheumy  eyes  at  us. 

"Hard  lines,  Mother  Corp,"  said  John,  glancing 
quizzically  at  the  red  cape  she  wore.  "But  war  is  in 
the  land,  and  truly,  your  cloak  smacks  of  fealty  to 
all  the  Georges,  living  and  dead." 

"War,  yes,  red  war!"  mumbled  the  crone.  "Blood 
and  war,  both  red !  The  redder  the  better,  good  sirs. 
Blood's  made  for  the  lettin'.  It's  to  flow,  mark  me, 
good  red  blood,  your  blood  and  his."  She  bit  the 
coins  we  had  given  her  with  her  remaining  snags, 
melancholy  monuments  of  her  departed  youth.  Sat- 
isfied, she  thrust  the  money  within  her  withered 
bosom.  It  was  safe  there. 

"A  pleasant  prospect,  truly,"  rejoined  John,  with  a 
grim  smile.  "But,  Mother  Corp,  who  tells  you  of 
these  things?" 

"Who  tells  me?"  she  replied,  with  weird  chucklings. 
"It's  in  the  air,  my  gentlemen,  in  the  air.  The  winds 
blow  it,  the  waters  moan  it,  the  breezes  whisper  it  at 
night.  You  shall  bleed  and  many  with  you.  The 
sun  sinks  red  these  days  and  woe  will  come  from 
Frontenac." 

"Woe  came  the  other  day;  on  a  Sabbath  day  you 
will  remember,  good  mother,"  answered  John.  "It 
came  and  it  went  away  again,  with  its  tail  between 
its  legs  and  in  a  most  ungodly  hurry." 

"True,  my  merry  gentleman,"  chuckled  the  decrepit 


IN  THE  LION'S  JAWS  131 

dame,  her  sinister  grin  gleaming  dim  in  the  gathering 
dusk,  "but  wait  another  day.  Thy  friends,  they  will 
come  again  from  Frontenac." 

"And  be  sure,  old  mother,"  he  replied,  "that  when 
they  do  they  will  return  again  to  Frontenac." 

"May  be,  may  be,"  mouthed  the  hag,  "but  some  of 
you  will  go  with  them,  and  many  of  you  they  will 
leave  behind  them.  For  the  dead  are  useless  and  it 
is  a  waste  of  time  to  carry  carrion."  She  moved 
away  up  the  street,  mumbling  and  muttering,  the 
lake  breeze  billowing  her  crimson  cloak  in  fantastic 
fashion. 

John  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  "Well,  upon  my 
soul!"  he  ejaculated.  "The  old  woman's  wits  have 
not  all  gone  wool-gathering,  I'll  be  bound.  From 
what  strange,  God-forsaken  cranny  did  she  come, 
Gilbert?" 

"No  one  knows,"  I  answered,  as  we  walked  slowly 
on  to  the  quarters.  "She  has  been  in  these  parts 
for  years,  subsisting  on  alms.  When  she  has  tempor- 
arily exhausted  Christian  charity  on  this  sparse  side 
of  the  water,  the  other  has  the  doubtful  blessing  of 
her.  She  always  returns,  however,  and  wanders  from 
one  hamlet  to  another  and  even  among  the  cabins 
in  the  forest,  seeking  food  and  shelter.  I  take  it  her 
pickings  have  not  been  plenty  of  late.  That  is  why 
she  has  consigned  all  of  us  to  red  ruin,  as  you  heard." 

"So  no  one  knows  whence  she  came,"  he  observed. 
"I  take  it  she  is  not  a  native." 

"Not  she,"  I  answered  dryly.  "The  country  is 
hardly  old  enough  for  that,  unless  she  be  an  abori- 
gine, and  if  the  redskins  were  accused  of  kin  to  her 
there  would  be  a  rising  and  a  general  massacre  of 
us  whites.  They  hate  her,  thinking  she  has  a  devil, 
therefore  fearing  to  harm  her.  As  you  have  noticed, 


132  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

she  is  somewhat  demented  and  they  have  a  super- 
stitious awe  of  such.  The  Indians  on  both  sides  of 
the  river  give  her  a  wide  berth." 

Approaching  the  quarters,  we  saw  Sergeant  Cyrenus 
sitting  astride  a  dismantled  gun,  his  pipe  in  his  lean 
jaws,  watching  with  malicious  eyes  someone  across 
the  road.  This  proved  to  be  Sergeant  Noadiah, 
sitting  solemnly  on  the  ground,  his  fat  back  resting 
against  a  pyramid  of  casks,  munching  tobacco  with 
grave  satisfaction.  Sergeant  Noadiah  paused  in  his 
munching  at  the  sound  of  our  footsteps  and  turned 
his  head.  He  saw  Cyrenus.  Rising,  he  lumbered 
away  with  fat  dignity.  Cyrenus  removed  his  pipe 
from  his  mouth  and  spat  with  unction. 

Lighting  candles  in  the  rough  shanty  which  served 
us  for  company  headquarters,  John  and  I  set  to 
work  on  some  plans  of  projected  work  on  the  de- 
fences. We  had  not  been  long  engaged  when  there 
entered  an  infantryman,  saluting. 

"Captain  Warburton,"  said  he,  "General  Brown 
desires  you  to  report  to  him  at  once  at  Colonel 
Bellinger's  quarters." 

I  followed  him  from  the  room.  Darkness  had  shut 
down,  blotting  out  the  village,  save  for  its  twinkling 
lights,  like  fireflies  in  a  meadow.  A  pale  moon 
gleamed  now  and  then  through  occasional  rifts  in 
the  heavy  cloud  masses  overhead,  driven  by  a  rising 
wind.  There  was  a  presage  of  rain;  the  air  was 
sodden  with  moisture. 

General  Brown's  home  was  a  few  miles  distant, 
toward  Watertown,  but  he  spent  most  of  his  time 
during  these  days  at  the  Harbor,  being  in  command 
of  the  militia  of  the  region.  In  a  few  moments  I  had 
reached  the  quarters  and  was  admitted  by  the  sentry 
on  guard. 


IN  THE  LION'S  JAWS  133 

I  stood  in  a  plainly  furnished  room.  Some  military 
maps  and  drawings  hung  upon  the  walls.  A  battered 
old  portrait  of  Washington,  much  the  worse  for  wear, 
gloomed  down  upon  us. 

General  Brown  rose,  his  hands  behind  him,  his 
powerful  frame  looming  large  in  the  dim  light  of  the 
guttering  candles.  Long  legs  he  had  and  square, 
powerful  shoulders.  No  feathers  and  fuss  about  this 
famous  fighter;  his  was  the  simplicity  of  action, 
swift  and  terrible.  Such  was  the  man  who  was  mov- 
ing heaven,  earth  and  Washington  to  secure  men, 
money  and  munitions;  the  man  whom,  as  I  believe 
before  God,  would  have  thrilled  the  world  and  his 
generation,  with  others  to  be  born,  had  not  the  wan, 
compelling  ghost  of  military  precedent  tied  his  hands. 
Had  the  reins  of  power  been  held  by  Brown's  fingers, 
I  believe  that  in  place  of  those  Canadian  campaigns 
which  must  forever, through  the  crass  blunders  and  cow- 
ardice of  monumental  military  weaklings,  be  my 
country's  shame,  there  would  have  been  one  grand 
movement,  complete  in  project,  overwhelming  in 
achievement,  and  the  brightest  page  of  the  infant- 
nation's  endeavors  in  that  war  for  right  and  liberty 
would  have  been  written.  The  genius  to  command 
was  stamped  in  every  line  of  his  face.  The  power  of 
conquest  rang  in  his  voice,  flashed  from  his  indom- 
itable eye.  He  raised  his  strong  arm  and  his  sword 
flashed  in  air;  men  cheered  like  mad  and  followed 
him  in  desperation  to  their  death;  followed  him,  I 
say,  because  he  was  always  at  the  head  of  his  troops 
and  did  not  fall  himself  only  because  the  hand  of  God 
was  with  him.  With  such  a  leader,  armed  with  the 
complete  resources  that  were  so  badly  needed  but 
so  insufficiently  bestowed,  what  could  have  prevented 
Canada's  undoing? 


134  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

I  was  at  first  minded  to  grasp  his  hand,  for  I 
knew  him  well.  But  I  was  instinctively  reminded  of 
the  recent  close  of  our  civic  relations.  I  saluted,  he 
returning  it. 

"Captain  Warburton,"  he  said,  with  that  directness 
which  was  characteristic  of  him.  "I  require  a  man 
to  sail  for  Frontenac  immediately,  and  have  chosen 
you,  in  accordance  with  our  recent  conversation. 
The  mission,  as  you  know,  is  a  hazardous  one.  De- 
tection means  a  noose,  tight  drawn.  Are  you  willing 
to  go?" 

"More  than  willing,  General,"  I  answered  quietly. 
"As  I  told  you  and  at  any  time." 

He  regarded  me  keenly.    "To-night?"  he  queried. 

"It  is  dark  and  therefore  more  convenient,"  I 
replied. 

"Good!"  he  said,  and  the  quiet  word  thrilled  me 
with  a  certain  sense  of  worthiness.  "It  may  be  some- 
what wet,  but  the  sailors  assure  me  they  do  not 
look  for  a  dangerously  heavy  blow.  One  of  the  best 
sailors  on  the  lake  will  take  you  there  to-night.  He 
will  leave  you  some  distance  west  of  the  town.  You 
must  then  fend  for  yourself.  Make  rough  maps  of 
defences,  get  the  strength  of  the  garrison  and  all 
military  resources  you  can  gather,  the  extent  of  the 
shipbuilding,  and  in  a  word  all  the  data  possible. 
Do  not  expose  yourself  more  than  is  necessary,  but 
do  not  be  over-cautious,  for  it  would  arouse  sus- 
picion far  sooner  than  the  other  extreme.  Three 
nights  hence  be  at  the  spot  where  my  man  will  leave 
you,  which  will  be  a  small  cove  a  few  miles  west  of 
Frontenac.  Prepare  to  leave  in  one  hour.  The  sail- 
boat is  anchored  near  the  Oneida,  in  readiness  for 
you.  You  have  the  uniform?" 

"Lieutenant  Stranahan  had  one  of  his  own  color 


IN  THE  LION'S  JAWS  135 

among  his  effects,"  I  answered.    "We  are  of  a  size." 

"Good!"  he  commented.  "When  in  Rome,  you 
know."  He  smiled. 

My  brow  clouded  as  my  memory  reverted  to  the 
capture.  A  black  fate,  indeed!  "Poor  devil!"  I  mut- 
tered. 

"He  was  a  spy ! "  replied  the  general,  frowning. 
"And  a  spy —  He  paused. 

I  saluted  and  turned  to  go.  "I,  too,  am  a  spy, 
General,"  I  answered  low.  He  nodded  silently,  his 
face  troubled.  I  made  to  leave  the  room. 

"Captain  Warburton,"  called  the  General,  and  I 
paused  again.  "I  despatch  you  on  this  hazardous 
duty  because  I  have  absolute  confidence  in  your  dis- 
cretion and  ability.  And  take  care  of  yourself,"  he 
added  and  offered  his  hand.  I  grasped  it  and  left. 

I  hurried  to  the  house  and  changed  my  uniform 
for  Stranahan's.  My  own  I  bundled  up  to  don  before 
I  should  recross  the  lake  to  resume  my  supposed 
surveillance  on  the  southern  frontier.  These  tactics 
would  assist  in  disarming  suspicion.  I  took  leave 
of  my  father  and  sister,  stating  my  mission,  as  I 
thought  it  best  to  do.  My  father  clasped  my  hand 
and  Dorothy  smiled  bravely,  though  with  wet  eyes. 
I  embraced  her  tenderly,  mentally  cursing  my  rough- 
ness of  an  hour  gone. 

I  stopped  for  a  moment  to  acquaint  John  with  my 
matter.  The  bones  of  my  hand  cracked  as  he  wrung  it. 

"I  would  caution  you,  but  you  will  not  need  it,  for 
you  will  succeed,"  he  told  me.  A  little  later  and  I 
was  on  my  way  to  the  waiting  boat.  The  sailor  in 
charge,  a  middle-aged  man  of  medium  height  and  a 
shrewd,  brown  face,  had  everything  in  readiness. 
We  presently  worked  out  of  the  harbor  and  sailed 
down  the  bay  toward  the  open  lake. 


136  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

The  wind  blew  steadily;  there  was  an  occasional 
drop  of  rain.  We  passed  the  outlying  islands,  black 
patches  in  the  gloom,  which  was  relieved  occasionally 
when  the  wan  beams  of  the  moon  pierced  the  shift- 
ing cloud-reaches  overhead.  For  a  couple  of  hours 
we  drove  along  at  a  good  speed,  tacking  but  little. 
The  man  in  the  stern,  taciturn  and  unsociable,  said 
never  a  word,  devoting  himself  to  the  management 
of  the  boat.  He  could  have  guided  it  through  dark- 
ness that  would  have  tried  the  eyes  of  a  house  cat, 
for  he  knew  the  lake  better  than  most  know 
books. 

For  a  time  it  looked  as  if  General  Brown's  opti- 
mistic information  regarding  the  weather  would  hold 
good  and  we  would  get  to  Frontenac  without  trouble. 
At  one  time  when  I  judged  we  were  about  half  way, 
the  sky  was  blown  nearly  clear  of  clouds  and  it  grew 
quite  light. 

But  now  the  wind  shifted,  then  veered  again.  Like 
a  howling  banshee  it  tore  straight  across  the  lake, 
driving  a  great  bank  of  clouds  down  upon  us,  riven 
with  livid  lightning,  spreading  blackness  over  us, 
darkness  in  which  one  could  scarcely  see  a  hand. 
Thunder  muttered,  growing  till  it  bellowed  in  our 
ears.  There  was  a  dash  of  rain,  then  the  heavens 
were  opened.  The  wind  howled  in  our  rear,  driving 
us  straight  north.  We  were  in  the  midst  of  one  of 
those  terrific  gales  for  which  Ontario  is  famed ;  famed 
and  feared. 

My  companion  laughed  dryly  in  the  darkness. 
"Headed  for  Frontenac,  anyway,"  he  chuckled.  "No 
gettin'  around  that." 

The  wind  lashed  the  waters  and  great  seas,  foam- 
crested,  drenched  us  with  their  spray.  The  boat 
heeled  over,  taking  in  a  great  wash  of  water.  A 


IN  THE  LION'S  JAWS  137 

thundering  wave  crashed  against  her  side.  She 
trembled  like  a  wild  thing. 

"We're  makin'  time,  anyhow,"  came  from  the  stern. 
"Was  about  in  the  middle  when  this  struck  us. 
Liable  to  be  at  both  ends,  you  at  one  and  me  at 
t'other,  when  it's  done  with.  Makin'  this  last 
twenty-five  mile  in  great  time,  I  tell  ye,  boy.  Feel 
her  buryin'  of  her  nose ! " 

At  last  we  beheld  a  faint  glow  some  distance  to  the 
east,  the  lights  of  Frontenac.  At  any  rate  we  would 
land  as  instructed,  if  we  landed  at  all,  above  the 
town. 

Some  distance  more  we  tore  through  the  water 
when  suddenly  there  came  a  grinding  shock.  The 
boat  had  crashed,  head-on,  into  some  obstacle.  She 
tipped  violently.  I  had  foolishly  been  standing  up, 
gazing  toward  the  glow,  and  was  thrown  headlong 
into  the  water. 

I  sank  deep  into  that  roaring  waste,  rising  to  the 
surface  choking  and  with  ringing  ears.  I  yelled  aloud 
for  my  steersman.  Nothing  came  in  reply  but  the 
infernal  howl  of  the  wind,  the  wash  of  the  mighty 
waves.  He,  together  with  my  boat  and  my  own  uni- 
form, had  evidently  gone  by  the  board.  But  there 
was  another  sound,  faint  and  far  away.  I  listened. 
It  was  the  beating  of  the  surf  upon  a  shore  still  dis- 
tant, and  the  wind  was  driving  me  with  the  swells 
directly  toward  it. 

I  struck  out.  I  was  an  expert  in  the  water  in  those 
days,  but  aquatic  exercise  with  soaked  clothing 
proved  exhausting.  I  relaxed,  breathing  hard,  merely 
keeping  myself  afloat  while  the  waves  carried  me 
shoreward. 

The  billows  buffeted  and  strangled  me.  My  limbs 
were  leaden  and  the  breath  seemed  gone  from  me. 


138  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

The  waters  rolled  over  my  head.  Half  drowned,  I 
sought  to  swim  again,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  I  was 
exhausted.  With  a  despairing  groan  I  ceased  my  ex- 
ertions and  sank. 

I  rested  on  my  knees,  my  mouth  gaping  with  as- 
tonishment because  above  water.  Before  I  could 
fully  grasp  the  fact,  along  came  a  booming  wave, 
catching  me  sternward  and  heaving  me,  gasping  and 
choking,  upon  my  face  in  sand  and  water.  An  in- 
stant more  and  I  had  staggered  to  my  feet,  plunging 
through  the  shoal  water  and  sprawling,  completely 
done,  on  the  Canadian  shore;  in  the  enemy's  country 
and  thanking  God. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
Red  Rolfe 

I  lay  for  a  time  inert.  I  was  still  so  close  to  the 
raging  lake  that  its  spray  drenched  me  where  I 
sprawled.  It  was  so  dark  that  I  could  distinguish 
but  dimly  the  deeper  murk  of  the  wooded  shore  be- 
fore me,  and  then  only  at  infrequent  intervals  as  the 
rolling  clouds  occasionally  broke  and  the  pale  moon- 
beams feebly  struggled  through  the  rifts.  The  leonine 
roar  of  the  surf,  thunderous  and  insistent,  was  in  my 
ears.  I  panted  like  a  spent  hound.  After  a  while  I 
staggered  weakly  to  my  feet  and  clambered  up  the 
precipitous  side  of  a  steep  bank.  Small  stones  rat- 
tled under  my  feet ;  the  dark  masses  of  the  adjacent 
woodlands,  swathed  in  funereal  gloom,  loomed  close  at 
hand.  I  swished  through  long  grasses,  drenched  with 
spray.  I  caught  myself  picking  my  way  cautiously, 
to  escape  the  wet,  and  laughed  grimly  when  I  remem- 
bered my  soaked  condition. 

Now  I  had  reached  the  crest  of  the  bank  and 
plunged  into  a  dense  growth  of  bushes.  I  was  deep 
in  impenetrable  darkness.  I  went  aimlessly  on,  the 
growl  of  the  surf  sounding  fainter  in  my  ears. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  I  struggled  on  under  these 
depressing  conditions,  but  I  never  exercised  my  legs 
under  more  unpleasant  circumstances.  My  soaked 
garments  sagged  about  my  body.  I  was  chilled,  for 
though  it  was  July,  the  rain  and  the  water  were  cold 


1 40  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

with  the  whipping  gale.  I  pushed  on  only  because  it 
was  more  comfortable  to  do  so  than  to  remain  in- 
active. Though  I  could  see  nothing  about  me,  I 
noted  the  proximity  of  objects  in  unpleasant  ways. 
Unseen  branches  scraped  my  face  and  left  it  bleeding ; 
I  tripped  over  logs  and  tree  roots  and  fell  upon  my 
battered  visage  with  sundry  imprecations.  I  hoped 
the  dawn  was  not  far  distant. 

An  owl  hooted  near  me  with  chilling  lugubrious- 
ness.  Vague  stirrings  sounded  from  the  rain-swept  dark- 
ness. The  wind  had  risen.  The  crashing  of  adjacent 
branches  startled  me.  I  leaped  aside  as  one  came 
tearing  down,  close  to  my  head.  I  was  willing  to 
be  hanged,  if  need  be,  for  the  good  of  the  cause, 
but  desired  a  chance  to  test  my  wits  against  those 
of  the  enemy  first. 

Plainly,  however,  this  was  an  aimless  wandering. 
The  roar  of  the  surf  had  grown  again;  I  was  evi- 
dently traveling  in  a  circle.  I  finally  sank  down  dis- 
couraged upon  the  soaked  ground,  which  was  no 
wetter  than  I,  and  cursed  the  continuance  of 
night.  I  had  frequently  fared  nocturnally  in  the 
forest,  but  under  more  pleasing  conditions. 

On  the  whole,  my  luck  was  ill.  I  peered  disconso- 
lately ahead  into  the  darkness.  Suddenly  I  noted  a 
faint  glimmer  of  light.  I  watched  it  intently  for  a 
moment,  thinking  it  one  of  those  fancied  flashes  which 
come  from  the  straining  of  eyes  that  seek  to  pierce 
intense  gloom.  But  it  remained  and  revived  me. 
Gaining  my  feet  I  made  toward  it. 

In  a  few  moments,  while  hastening  along  that  dark, 
uneven  way,  I  stepped  off  into  space  and  found  my- 
self to  the  neck  in  cold  running  water.  Additional 
wettings,  more  or  less,  could  not  disconcert  me  now, 
and  I  struck  out  unconcernedly.  It  was  a  small 


RED  ROLFE  141 

stream  and  a  few  strokes  served  to  carry  me  to  the 
opposite  bank.  The  light  was  now  close  at  hand 
and  I  was  speedily  there. 

In  the  midst  of  the  black  forest  stood  a  tiny  cabin 
of  logs,  or  shack  would  be  a  better  word.  From  a 
rude  aperture  which  served  for  a  window  streamed 
the  light  I  had  seen. 

I  made  my  way  hastily  to  the  door,  at  which  I 
knocked.  There  was  no  answer.  I  paused  a  moment 
and  knocked  again. 

"Who's  there?"  came  in  a  quavering  tone  from 
inside. 

"  No  one  that  will  harm  you,"  I  rejoined.  "  Let  me 
in  and  I'll  tell  you  about  it." 

"Mon  Dieu !  have  you  come  for  me?"  asked  the 
voice,  unmistakably  frightened. 

"I  don't  know  you  and  you  don't  know  me!"  I 
answered  angrily,  for  my  patience  was  nigh  done. 
"I  want  shelter  and  a  little  drying,  that  is  all." 

Now  the  door  opened  a  very  little.  I  inserted  my 
foot,  whereupon  the  occupant  sought  to  slam  the 
portal  shut  again.  Exasperated,  I  flung  my  weight 
against  the  boards  that  barred  me.  The  door  flew 
open  with  such  celerity  that  I  fell  through  it.  A 
small  figure  reeled  backward  against  the  opposite 
wall. 

"You  wear  the  red,  m'sieur !"  gasped  a  voice,  "and 
yet  you  say  you  have  not  come  for  me!" 

"Nor  have  I,"  I  grinned  at  him,  regaining  my 
equilibrium  and  my  temper  simultaneously.  "What 
could  I  do  with  you  if  I  took  you?  Why  should 
anyone  want  you?" 

Indeed  there  was  reason  for  the  query.  The  little 
man  was  far  from  prepossessing,  either  in  face  or 
physique.  His  small,  bent  figure,  with  rounded 


142  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

shoulders,  was  illy  clothed.  His  dark,  wrinkled  face, 
unmistakably  French,  wore  a  hunted,  furtive  expres- 
sion. The  features  had  an  oddly  unfinished  appear- 
ance, as  if  hewn  out  with  a  dulled  chisel.  The  black 
eyes  were  large  and  staring.  Cupidity  leered  from 
them;  the  whites  were  splotched  with  red.  A  fringe 
of  ragged  gray  whisker  straggled  from  either  ear,  re- 
luctantly meeting  under  a  lean  jaw.  A  mass  of  long, 
iron-gray  hair  snarled  uncombed  nearly  to  his 
shoulders.  His  skin  was  leathery  and  his  hands, 
with  abnormally  long  fingers  and  untrimmed  nails, 
were  never  quiet.  They  picked  incessantly;  now  at 
the  thin  beard,  presently  at  his  buttons,  again  at 
the  sorry  whiskers. 

I  began  to  strip  off  my  soaked  uniform.  "  Pray 
overlook  my  remaining  without  leave,"  said  I,  smil- 
ing amiably  at  my  gaping  host.  "  But,  as  it  is,  can 
we  have  a  fire?  And  may  I  have  some  clothes  while 
these  are  drying?" 

The  little  man  arose  without  a  word.  Ascending  a 
rough  ladder  which  led  to  a  loft  above,  he  rummaged 
therein.  He  reappeared  with  a  nondescript  bundle 
which  he  thought  might  do.  I  ascended  the  ladder 
and  effected  the  change,  tossing  down  my  own  water- 
logged outfit.  The  little  man's  trousers  were  far  from 
ample,  and,  as  I  sat  down,  I  feared  for  their  entirety. 
Over  my  shoulders  I  had  thrown  a  coat  of  my  host's 
and  thrust  my  feet  into  a  pair  of  well-worn  boots  he 
had  secured  for  me.  I  began  to  feel  more  comfort- 
able. The  odd  little  stranger  bustled  about,  prepar- 
ing a  blaze  in  his  rude  fireplace  to  dry  my  uniform. 
Presently  the  clothes  were  toasting  and  I  had  the 
grace  of  an  afterthought  to  thank  him. 

"Why  were  you  frightened  at  my  approach?"  I 
asked  the  little  man,  who  was  nervously  regarding  me. 


RED  ROLFE  143 

"  I  thought,  m'sieur,  that  you  had  come  from  Fron- 
tenac  to  bring  me  to  fight,  as  they  have  many,"  he 
replied.  "  Non,  merci,  m'sieur,  I  would  rather  not ! 
It  is  safer  not." 

"True,"  I  answered  dryly.    "Who  are  you?" 

"One  Jacques  Pitou,"  he  replied  simply.  "And 
you,  m'sieur?" 

"Lieutenant  Percy  Stranahan,  of  Montreal,"  I 
rejoined  glibly,  remembering  just  in  time  to  lie.  "I 
have  been  in  some  little  business  on  the  other  side 
and  was  trying  to  reach  Frontenac  when  we  lost  our 
reckoning  and  almost  our  lives  in  this  cursed  storm. 
I  managed  somehow  to  reach  the  shore.  I  don't 
know  where  my  boatman  is.  Perhaps  in  paradise." 

He  grinned  and  grunted.  "  How  long  shall  you 
stay,  m'sieur?" he  inquired,  with  ill-concealed  anxiety. 

"  Only  a  few  hours,"  I  replied,  "  until  my  clothing 
is  dried  and  I  have  eaten  and  rested.  I  shall  pay 
you  for  your  trouble,  Pitou." 

He  burst  into  assurances  of  pleasure  at  my  presence. 
My  promise  to  pay  had  made  all  the  difference  in  the 
world,  as  I  had  surmised  it  would.  The  gleam  in  the 
mottled  eyes,  the  clawing  hands,  had  revealed  the 
woodsman's  weakness. 

I  checked  his  impassioned  utterances  with  some  dis- 
gust. "How  far  am  I  from  Frontenac,  Pitou?"  I 
asked. 

"Only  a  little  over  five  miles,  Lieutenant,"  he 
purred  in  his  broken  English,  grown  suddenly  servile. 
"  There's  good  path  not  far  from  here.  Take  you  to 
the  town  direct.  But  why  haste?  You  are  fatigued; 
stay  and  rest  t'ree,  four  day." 

I  laughed  aloud.  An  odd  jingle  hummed  in  my 
head,  a  queer  Canadian  scrap  picked  up  somewhere 
during  a  trip  in  the  woods : 


144  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

For  value  received, 

I  promise  to  pay 
T'ree  or  four  dollar 

In  free  or  four  day; — 
If  man  no  come — 

Money  no  bring — 
Pass  right  'long 

All  th'  same  thing! 

I  chuckled  at  the  whimsy.  Pitou  was  eyeing  me 
with  resentment  and  a  little  suspicion.  "Why  do 
you  laugh,  m'sieur?"  he  asked. 

"  A  trifle,  mon  ami,"  I  told  him.  "  Only  a  passing 
thought.  It  concerned  money." 

"  Money  !"  he  echoed,  horrified.  "  Mon  Dieu,  m'sieur, 
I  should  not  laugh  at  money !  Sacre,  non !  The 
money,  it  is  a  serious  matter  with  me,  m'sieur!" 

"  So  I  gather,"  I  replied.  "  But  as  for  my  remain- 
ing, Pitou,  it  can  be  for  no  longer  than  a  few  hours." 
His  ugly  face  grew  pensive.  "  But  you  shall  be  well 
paid,"  I  added,  and  taking  heart  of  hope,  he  grinned 
again. 

My  eyes  were  now  heavy  and  small  wonder.  I  ex- 
pressed the  wish  to  retire.  The  queer  little  fellow 
jumped  up  with  abject  courtesy  and  swarmed  up  the 
ladder,  catching  up  a  tallow  dip  as  he  ran.  I  heard 
him  thrashing  about  overhead.  Shortly  afterward  I 
was  stretched  upon  the  shakedown  he  had  prepared 
for  me.  Tired  as  a  dog,  I  fell  speedily  asleep,  the 
rain  pattering  softly  upon  the  bark  roof  over  me.  It 
ran  through  somewhat  in  spots,  but  I  did  not  mind. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  I  awoke.  The  sky 
was  swept  clear  of  clouds  and  the  warm  sun  was 
drying  the  moisture  which  still  glistened  upon  the  leaves 
overhead  and  dampened  the  rich  dark  mould  beneath. 
The  air,  newly  washed,  was  freshly  intoxicating. 


RED  ROLFE  145 

Pitou  had  my  uniform,  fully  dried,  ready  for  me. 
I  donned  it  and  hastened  out  of  doors  for  a  few 
deep  breaths,  while  Pitou  prepared  my  breakfast 
of  porridge,  cakes  and  venison.  Rude  fare,  to  be 
sure,  but  I  tried  the  three  courses  in  turn,  reversed 
and  was  half  through  on  a  third  circuit  before  I 
desisted.  For  I  ate  in  those  days. 

Breakfast  done  I  lighted  my  pipe,  and  securing 
some  tobacco  from  Pitou,  my  own  being  ruined  by 
the  water,  I  went  out  doors.  Pitou  accompanied  me, 
tenderly  solicitous,  deluging  me  with  inquiries  as  to 
my  well  being.  Wearied,  I  sought  a  respite,  asking 
information  in  my  turn. 

"How  do  you  subsist,  Pitou?"  I  inquired.  "How 
came  you  here?  The  towns  are  less  lonely." 

"Sacre !  I  do  not  care  for  them,"  he  responded. 
"Also,  they  are  insistent  there.  As  it  is,  I  fear  they 
will  come  for  me  to  fight.  Me,  diable,  me!  Each 
day  I  fear  it.  I  prefer  to  be  here  and  trap,  for  it 
is  thus  I  live.  As  for  my  country,  I  came  from  France, 
but  it  is  long  ago." 

"Is  it  always  so  monotonous  here?"  I  asked  him. 
"Have  you  never  excitement?" 

"Not  here,  thank  God !"  he  replied  devoutly.  "Once 
though,  far  north  in  the  deep  forest,  there  was  much 
to  excite  me,  ver'  much!" 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  I  suggested,  idly  interested. 

"It  is  but  two  years  that  I  have  been  in  this  spot, 
m'sieur,"  he  told  me.  "F»r  several  years  I  was  far 
north,  away  from  them  all;  one,  tw«  hundred  miles. 
It  was  on  the  shore  of  a  lake  where  the  woods  are 
thick.  There  was  ver'  much  game;  it  paid  to  stay. 
But  one  night;  ah,  it  was  near  to  my  last! 

"It  was  a  dark,  wild  night;  much  lak  that  just 
passed,  but  ver'  much  worse.  I  been  goin'  to  bunk 


I46  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

when  there  is  a  crash  and  bang !  m'sieur,  down  comes 
the  door  of  my  shanty.  And  who  stand  there  and 
watch  me,  who  but  that  Red  Rolfe  and  his  Indians, 
six  of  them.  You  know  of  Rolfe,  m'sieur?" 

"Vaguely,"  I  answered.  "He  is  a  white  man  who 
is  reputed  to  control  a  gang  of  outlaws  gathered 
from  among  the  Indians  of  this  region,  is  he  not? 
I  have  heard  incredible  tales  of  their  devil's  doings." 

"Ah,  you  know  not  Red  Rolfe,"  said  Pitou,  almost 
in  a  whisper,  "but  I  do.  Sacre !  He  is  a  devil  from 
hell,  m'sieur !  I  see  him  standing  there  with  wolf's 
grin  on  the  damned  red  face  of  him.  His  teeth  show 
like  they  was  dog's,  and  his  dirty  redskins  stand 
behind  him.  My  heart  jumps,  m'sieur,  then  froze  lak 
ice.  Me,  I  have  heard  of  this  devil. 

"'Come,  old  man,'  he  say.  'Give  up  your  money. 
1  know  you  and  you  die  by  bleedin'  inches  if  you 
don't!' 

"Well,  m'sieur,  I  had  it,  but  I  been  tore  in  little 
pieces,  lak  paper,  before  they  get  one  penny.  Red 
Rolfe,  he  swear  lak  soul  in  hell,  and  after  a  little 
he  tell  them  tak'  and  torture  me.  They  begin  to  do 
lak  he  say,  but  I  don't  remember  well  after  a  little, 
for  it  grow  dark.  They  strip  me  with  knives,  m'sieur ! " 
He  rolled  up  his  sleeve  and  showed  me  a  great, 
irregular  scar,  deep  and  angry  looking.  "There  are 
many  such,"  he  added. 

"I  can  but  recollect,"  he  continued,  "that  they 
crowd  around  me  and  cut  and  pinch  and  hold  torches 
that  blaze  to  my  roastin'  feet,  while  I  howl,  howl 
like  dam  dog.  And  when  I  am  not  howl  I  bite  my 
lips  through  and  through,  so  I  shall  not  tell  where 
the  money  is.  Mon  Dieu !  how  I  hated  them,  m'sieur. 
And  finally,  lak  I  dream,  I  hear  Red  Rolfe  swear 
and  snarl  lak  dog  he  is. 


RED  ROLFE  147 

"'By  God!'  he  yell,  'if  he  no  talk  [now  he  never 
will  again !  Pull  out  his  tongue ! '  He  grab  my 
jaw  and  push  it  down  and  ram  his  other  hand  full 
in  my  mouth,  m'sieur,  feelin'  for  my  tongue.  'Get  a 
knife!'  he  yell. 

"I  am  mad  then,  m'sieur,  mad  to  foam  with  fear 
and  the  hate  of  him.  I  champ  his  dam  fingers  till 
my  teeth  grate  on  the  bones,  lak  saw  through  wood. 
He  howl  like  wolf,  and  his  redskins,  they  wrench 
my  jaws  apart  to  save  his  fingers  that  drip  with 
the  bleed,  else,  before  God,  m'sieur,  I  should  have 
eaten  them.  And  so  he  rage  there  lak  big  wood 
cat,  froth  at  mouth  and  shaking  his  fingers  that 
drip  blood  like  rain,  m'sieur." 

"They  come  at  me  again,  m'sieur,  with  knife  to 
do  it,  and  I  am  wag  my  tongue  for  last  time  in 
whisper  of  a  prayer,  when  there  is  a  rush  from  out- 
side and  in  there  bounds  a  big,  black  hound  lak 
mad  bear,  on  top  the  whole  crew.  And  so  hard 
does  he  come,  m'sieur,  that  they  all  go  sprawl  over 
each  other  on  the  floor.  One  of  them,  he  draw  and 
try  to  knife  the  dog,  but  the  dog  he  spring,  swish ! 
lak  that,  and  over  he  go  with  dog's  teeth  meet  in 
his  throat.  Then  there  is  a  rush  of  feet  outside, 
and  in  jumps  the  biggest  man  le  bon  Dieu  has  ever 
let  me  see,  m'sieur.  He  lands  most  on  the  top  of 
me,  and  as  my  arms  they  are  tied  together,  I  roll 
out  of  the  way  and  lay  up  against  the  wall,  watch- 
ing. And  the  sight !  Dieu !  it  keeps  me  young  to 
think  of  it,  m'sieur  ! 

"He  grabs  couple  of  them  by  dirty  necks,  so — " 
illustrating  with  an  eloquent  gesture,  "and — crack  ! — 
their  heads  go  bang  together.  They  drop  lak  logs. 
He  grabs  wrist  of  another  who  is  comin'  with  knife. 
He  twist  the  arm,  I  hear  it  snap.  The  two  who 


148  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

are  left,  they  get  away,  just  as  he  stretch  out  his 
long  arms  for  them,  and  I  b'lieve  them  to  be  run- 
ning yet,  m'sieur.  The  one  with  the  arm  that  is 
broke,  him  he  kick  out  door,  and  with  them  the  two 
whose  heads  are  cracked. 

"All  this  time  Red  Rolfe,  he  stand  and  gape  like 
fish  on  shore,  m'sieur,  back  up  against  wall.  His 
red  whiskers  and  his  red  hair,  they  bristle  lak  hide 
on  dog. 

I  stifled  an  exclamation.  A  growing  suspicion  had 
been  suddenly  verified. 

"The  giant,  who  has  so  well  arrive,  for  my  com- 
fort, m'sieur,  he  turn  to  Rolfe  and  the  black  eyes  of 
him  is  lighted  with  the  red  flame.  But  he  say  not 
one  word,  though  I  know  that  each  he  know  the 
other.  The  big  man,  he  point  to  door. 

"The  red  one,  he  start  for  it,  and  the  big  man, 
he  turn  away  with  never  one  word  yet.  Red  Rolfe, 
he  go  sneak  to  door  with  look  that  is  wicked  as 
hell  in  the  cat's  eyes  of  him.  But  just  before  he 
reach  it,  because  big  man  has  turn  his  back,  he  grab 
his  knife  and  lunge  at  big  man.  I  shout,  m'sieur, 
but  it  is  too  late  if  the  hound  had  not  been  there. 
But  he  has  left  the  redskin,  whose  blood  from  his 
torn  throat  has  daub  the  floor,  and  the  dog  is  meet 
Rolfe  half  way  and  the  back  of  the  red  one's  head, 
it  hit  the  floor  mos'  ungodly  hard,  m'sieur,  while 
knife  fly  out  his  hand. 

"The  big  man,  he  pull  the  growlin'  dog  off  Red 
Rolfe,  and  the  big  man's  jaws,  they  grow  set  as 
the  hinges  of  hell,  m'sieur.  Then  he  speak  the  first 
words  I  have  hear  him  use.  'So,'  he  say,  'you  have 
got  down  to  stab  in  back.'  That  it  is  all,  then  he 
do  a  thing  that  keeps  me  young,  m'sieur,  only  to 
think  of  it. 


RED  ROLFE  149 

"Now  Red  Rolfe,  he  is  a  broad,  short  man,  and 
bull-like  in  the  strength,  but  he  is  like  a  child,  m'sieur, 
in  those  terrible  hands.  I  see  the  giant  stand  him 
up  and  knock  him  down  till  his  face,  it  is  bruised 
jelly,  and  his  eyes  they  are  shut  tight  lak  kitten's 
that  is  newly  born.  The  blood,  it  stream  down, 
and  the  red  whiskers,  they  are  redder  yet.  Then, 
when  he  is  quite  still  and  move  no  more  at  all  to 
get  away,  the  big  man,  he  pick  him  up  and  throw 
him  out  door  lak  the  others.  And  then,  m'sieur,  he 
untie  me  and  dress  my  hurts,  and  then  bimeby  he 
make  to  prepare  for  himself  his  supper. 

"The  nex'  day,  we  leave  together,  for  I  know  it 
is  not  safe  for  me  there,  and  he  carry  me  good  part 
of  the  way  and  is  never  tired.  Dieu !  he  is  a  giant, 
m'sieur.  He  take  me  here,  to  this  spot,  where  I  make 
to  build  me  this  cabin  while  he  go  on  to  Mon'real. 
His  name,  I  never  know  it,  but  my  life,  it  he  can 
always  command,  m'sieur.  Ah,  the  struggle !  Nom 
de  Dieu!  If  you  could  imagine  it!" 

I  could  imagine  it.  My  thoughts  flew  back  to  the 
scream  of  an  involuntary  suicide,  so  well  remembered; 
to  the  sight  of  a  dark  body  shooting  out  from  a 
wooded  bank  into  swift  waters,  as  if  hurled  by  a 
catapult.  I  recalled  a  grim,  straining  struggle  for 
the  possession  of  a  rifle,  a  crashing  blow  full  in  a 
fiend's  face,  a  bleeding  mouth  despoiled  of  fangs. 
Did  I  know  the  identity  of  the  rescuen  of  Jacques 
Pitou?  As  surely,  indeed,  as  I  knew  Red  Rolfe. 

I  took  leave  of  my  host  shortly  after  dinner.  "I 
must  get  on  to  Frontenac,"  I  said  as  I  left  him, 
"and  I  hope  we  may  meet  again."  As  I  had  feed 
him  liberally,  I  made  no  doubt  that  a  correspond- 
ing sentiment,  which  he  expressed,  was  unaffectedly 
sincere. 


153  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

I  set  off  toward  Frontenac,  gloating  over  the 
vision  conjured  by  the  Frenchman's  graphic  words, 
picturing  the  dismay  of  Red  Rolfe  and  his  villainous 
crew  that  followed  the  entry  of  the  terrible  pair 
among  them.  I  imagined  the  red  one's  hateful  face, 
bloody  and  pulpy  from  righteous,  honest  blows,  the 
eyes  closed  tight  as  a  baby  kitten's.  There  were  fat 
chucklings  in  my  throat  that  scandalized  scolding 
squirrels  who  peered  at  me,  with  inquisitive  eyes, 
from  adjacent  trees. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
At  the  King's  Inn 

I  walked  leisurely  on  through  the  forest.  The 
course,  but  dimly  distinguishable  in  places,  wound 
on  through  the  thick  of  the  woods.  The  afternoon 
was  yet  young  and  there  was  no  need  for  haste. 
Discretion  counselled  that  it  would  be  better  to  make 
my  entry  into  the  town  in  the  evening,  so  I  pro- 
ceeded slowly. 

I  felt  reasonably  confident  and  well  equipped  for 
the  enterprise.  Moreover,  I  entered  into  it  with  a 
certain  recklessness  of  indifference  that  would  cer- 
tainly neutralize  the  excess  of  caution  against  which 
General  Brown  had  warned  me.  I  brooded  constant- 
ly over  the  bitter  fate  that  had  befallen  Renee  and 
her  father,  and,  had  it  not  been  for  duty,  I  had 
cared  but  little  in  my  present  mood  what  might  be- 
fall me,  short  of  a  rope.  That  I  would  not  brook. 
If  the  worst  came,  why  then  I  could  anticipate  it. 

The  sun  was  quite  low  when  I  had  leisurely  gone 
the  five  miles  or  thereabouts  that  intervened  between 
the  cabin  and  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  Stopping 
at  intervals  to  lounge  under  some  friendly  tree,  I 
had  prolonged  the  walk,  but  now  I  had  arrived  at 
the  forest's  edge  and  was  close  to  the  grim  Mecca 
of  my  journey.  Prowling  among  the  trees,  I  gazed 
at  the  adjacent  bundle  of  quaint,  limestone  build- 
ings, sprawling  squat  and  burly,  dull  gray  in  the 


1 52  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

fading  sunlight.  A  gilded  cross,  surmounting  the 
spire  of  a  large,  stone  church,  flamed  in  the  crimson 
glow.  The  town's  main  streets,  white,  dusty  ribbons, 
ran  straight  back  from  the  long,  close-built  water 
front,  the  principal  thoroughfares  cris-crossed  by 
smaller  ones  in  checkered  design.  Here  and  there, 
like  sentinels,  grimly  in  advance,  stood  blockhouses, 
facing  the  water.  The  outflung  islands  that  hedged 
the  harbor  lay,  green  with  verdure,  great  emeralds 
in  the  lake  which,  a  stone's  throw  further  on,  merged 
its  waters  with  the  wide  current  of  the  mighty  St. 
Lawrence,  for  here  began  the  Canadian  channel. 
Below  the  town,  facing  the  flood  that  was  disquieted 
with  the  breath  of  a  whispering  summer  wind,  stood 
Frontenac's  guarding  fortress.  Low  and  gray  and 
rambling,  massively  imperturbable,  it  sprawled  on  a 
low,  green  hill,  grimly  watchful,  leashed  thunders 
prisoned  in  the  gullets  of  its  guns. 

The  harbor  itself,  full  of  shipping,  pulsed  and 
throbbed.  Late  as  it  was  growing,  my  ears  caught 
the  distant  sound  of  hammers  and  the  vague  stir  of 
strenuous  preparation  in  the  dockyards.  Additions  to 
the  formidable  fleet,  with  which  Yeo  dreamed  of  sweep- 
ing the  lake,  were  building  there.  Clearly  our  Can- 
adian cousins  were  alive  to  the  harried  situation  and 
I  made  no  doubt,  even  from  my  distant  vantage 
ground,  that  they  were  much  better  equipped  than 
ourselves. 

But  now  the  sun  had  dipped  beneath  the  western 
rim  and  the  dusk  fell  softly.  The  music  of  the  ham- 
mers ceased  and  quiet  fell.  The  shadows  deepened 
where  I  prowled,  becoming  merged  in  murk.  A  little 
longer  and  the  stars  came  glimmering;  the  crescent 
moon  curtsied  to  a  cloudless  sky.  The  wind  ruffled 
the  leaves  above  me,  a  soft  wind,  free  from  all 


AT  THE  KING'S  INN  153 

boisterousness.    The   bull-like    brawl    of   the    night 
previous  seemed  strangely  remote. 

The  time  was  at  hand.  I  repeated  my  new  name, 
for  practice,  and  strode  on  toward  the  town.  Pres- 
ently I  passed  some  straggling  houses.  The  clatter 
of  belated  supping  came  to  me.  I  was  reminded  of 
my  own  need. 

I  soon  reached  the  clocks,  and  turning,  walked  up 
a  main  street  of  the  town.  Soldiers  were  here  and 
there;  splotches  of  crimson  covered  the  thorough- 
fare like  the  floor  of  a  forest  in  September.  They 
sauntered,  they  stood  in  small  knots.  They  rolled 
pensive  eyes  at  bug-eyed  maids,  loitering  hard  by, 
and  were  grandly  oblivious  to  round-orbed  children. 
I  brushed  elbows  with  these  apparent  comrades  as  I 
hurried  on  for  supper.  No  nervousness  dwelt  within 
me.  I  was  a  gambler,  confident  and  cool.  The  stakes 
were  heavy,  but  my  state  of  mind  admitted  no  timor- 
ous fear.  Besides,  I  held  a  hand  far  better  than  my 
opponents  knew.  So,  with  a  reasonable  degree  of 
faith  in  the  outcome,  I  reached  the  King's  Inn. 

The  inn,  low  and  rambling,  stood  to  the  right  of 
the  long,  straight  street.  Of  rude  but  massive  archi- 
tecture, its  limestone  walls,  seamed  and  weatherbeaten, 
supported  an  ancient  roof.  For  Frontenac  was  a 
venerable  town  and  this,  its  chief  inn,  had  grown 
hoary  with  it.  As  I  approached  it  a  babel  came 
from  within;  hoarse  voices,  clamorous  laughter.  A 
number  of  the  king's  men  in  uniform  stood  with  some 
civilians  in  front  of  the  door.  They  moved  to  allow 
me  to  enter. 

I  paused  a  breath  upon  the  threshold,  for  this  was 
the  crucial  moment,  then  went  in. 

I  stood  in  a  large,  low  room,  lighted  with  great, 
guttering  candles.  The  smell  of  tallow  smote  the  air, 


i54  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

mingling  with  the  stronger,  spirituous  odors.  Great 
gouts  of  sound  bellowed  about  me,  the  room  was  full 
to  overflowing  with  redcoats.  Full  to  overflowing 
were  some  of  these  latter  also,  as  I  gathered  at  a 
glance.  Their  thick  tongues  were  loosened,  gushing 
boisterously,  while  their  quieter  companions  grinned 
with  the  appreciation  which  men  feel  for  the  condition 
of  those  more  drunken  than  themselves. 

Through  the  babbling  vortex  I  twisted  unnoticed, 
seeking  the  landlord.  I  met  him  half  way,  for  he  had 
noted  my  coming  and  scented  custom.  He  was  a 
weasel-faced  little  man  with  furtive  eyes  that  gleamed 
with  the  love  of  money  rather  than  for  the  things 
which  money  brings.  He  stood  rubbing  thin  hands, 
a  servile  grin  cracking  his  unhallowed  face. 

"Supper,"  I  ordered  briefly.  "I  am  just  arrived 
from  a  long  journey  and  am  tired.  Take  me  out 
of  this  bawling  mob." 

The  innkeeper  led  me  out  of  the  maelstrom  into 
the  eating  room,  the  brawl  coming  more  faintly  to 
me  through  the  thick,  closed  doors.  I  was  served 
substantially  and  rose  renewed.  Filling  and  lighting 
my  pipe,  I  repaired  to  the  room  wherein  my  whilom 
comrades  were  disporting. 

The  fun  had  grown  more  furious,  serving  men  were 
rushing  hither  and  yon,  laden  with  flagons  and 
glasses,  no  sooner  replenished  than  emptied.  Uni- 
formed figures  sprawled  in  the  heavy  chairs  about 
the  small  tables.  Glasses  clinked  and  bumping  mugs 
pledged  healths  interminable.  A  stalwart  figure  rose 
unsteadily,  a  filled  mug  circling  tremulously  over 
the  speaker's  head.  A  bibulous  voice  proposed  a 
toast  that  was  lost  in  the  general  confusion,  whereat 
the  owner  of  the  voice,  grumbling  in  his  mug,  sat 
down  again. 


AT  THE  KING'S  INN  155 

Scraps  of  disjointed  conversation  caught  my  ear. 
I  was  edified  to  learn  that,  for  the  most  part,  it 
concerned  the  Yankees.  However,  as  the  Red-coats 
were  the  subject  of  like  discussion  at  the  Harbor 
opposite,  probably  under  similar  circumstances 
at  this  very  time,  it  was  not  seriously  wounding. 
What  did  cause  me  concern  was  the  number  of  officers 
in  that  room.  Captains  and  lieutenants  galore, 
subalterns  a  plenty  and  more  coming  in.  The  gener- 
als, majors  and  colonels,  how  many  of  them  were 
there  I  wondered  whimsically,  and  where  was  their 
trysting  place?  They  had  evidently  not  been  wast- 
ing time  in  Frontenac.  Their  harbor  was  clamorous 
with  the  sound  of  preparation;  a  formidable  fleet 
already  rode  at  anchor  within  it;  more  brigs  were 
building.  Even  in  the  short  time,  I  had  noticed 
the  scope  of  the  defences  and  the  possibilities  for 
offense.  Contrasting  this  state  of  affairs  with  our  own 
pitiful  paucity  of  resource,  my  heart  might  well  sink 
within  me.  True,  the  first  attempt  had  failed,  but 
what  might  the  second  bring  to  us?  That  it  would 
be  made  was  wholly  certain.  A  little  more  time  for 
preparation,  a  more  thorough  organization  of  forces, 
and,  as  Mother  Corp  had  said,  woe  would  surely 
come  from  Frontenac.  The  Harbor  was  a  portal  to 
the  patriot  frontier.  Let  the  key  be  possessed  by  the 
enemy,  and  the  entire  region  would  be  at  his  mercy. 

All  this  I  thought  in  a  breath  of  time.  The  noise 
about  me  increased  in  volume.  Thus  far  the  situation 
had  been  merely  convivial.  There  had  been  nothing 
of  ill  nature.  United  in  a  common  denunciation  of 
the  Yankees,  no  taint  of  internecine  strife  had 
yet  disturbed  the  exuberant  serenity  of  the  gath- 
ering. I  sat  there  regarding  my  fellows  with  some 
amusement,  till  now  happily  unnoticed. 


156  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

But  now  a  burly  figure  arose  unsteadily  from  a 
seat  at  the  end  of  the  room,  coming  toward  me.  It 
was  that  of  a  middle  aged  man,  somewhat  above 
medium  height,  compactly  and  powerfully  built.  He 
lurched  a  trifle  as  he  approached.  Stopping,  he 
brought  a  thick  hand  down  resoundingly  on  my 
shoulder.  A  red,  blotched  face,  lighted  luridly  with 
bloodshot  eyes,  was  thrust  nearly  into  my  own.  The 
reek  of  drams  innumerable  was  in  my  shrinking 
nostrils. 

"A  stranger,  eh  ?"  roared  a  hoarse  voice,  thick  with 
drink.  "So  that  you  wear  the  scarlet  coat,  you're 
welcome.  But  who. are  you?" 

The  attention  of  the  entire  crew  was  drawn  by 
the  rough  salutation,  so  it  was  amid  silence  that  I 
answered  him. 

"I  am  Lieutenant  Percy  Stranahan,"  said  I,  "and 
I  am  just  arrived  from  Montreal  on  certain  business 
which  I  hope  will  result  fortunately  for  our  cause. 
You  will  all  probably  know  of  it  later." 

"To-morrow  will  care  for  itself,"  bellowed  the  man 
before  me,  thrusting  his  beefy  face  further  into  my 
own.  "It's  to-night  we're  living  in  !  And  now  you're 
here,  lieutenant,  you  must  drink  with  us.  Drink  to 

the  army  and  ourselves, — and  to  King  George,  d n 

him!"  The  latter  was  an  afterthought. 

While  no  habitual  abstainer,  this  assuredly  would 
not  do.  There  would  be  the  first  dram  and  after 
that  the  deluge.  I  must  preserve  a  clear  head,  let 
what  unpleasant  circumstances  that  might  ensue 
attend  the  abstinence. 

"Your  pardon,  sir,"  I  replied  courteously,  "but  I 
will  not  drink  to-night.  I  am  indisposed." 

Deep  in  his  cups,  my  companion's  choler  rose  like  a 
trout  at  a  helpless  fly. 


SNATCHING    THE    GLASS    FROM    THE    FELLOW'S    HAND, 

HE     LUNOKD    AT     ME  Page  157 


AT  THE  KING'S  INN  157 

"Will  not  drink ! "  he  roared,  in  a  ludicrous  rage, 
"but,  by  God,  you  shall !"  He  beckoned  to  a  passing 
serving  man. 

"Bring  this  fellow  a  glass  of  brandy,"  he  ordered. 
"He  is  thirsty,  make  it  a  big  one."  He  regarded  me 
with  drunken  triumph  as  the  attendant  hurried  away. 

My  blood  boiled.  There  were  murmurs  about  the 
room;  a  scarlet  cordon  was  closing  about  the  pair 
of  us. 

"Sir,"  I  said  through  my  teeth,  "you  had  best  have 
a  care!  I  am  not  to  be  bullied  !  If  you  seek  to  force 
this  potation  on  me,  be  sure  that  I  shall  wash  your 
face  with  it!" 

He  empurpled.  "Wash  my  face,  will  you!"  he  bel- 
lowed. "Why,  you  d d  young  dog,  do  you 

know  who  I  am?" 

"I  have  not  the  dishonor,"  I  replied,  with  mock 
courtesy.  There  arose  a  general  laugh. 

"How  dare  you,"  he  continued  without  heeding, 
"a  petty,  penniless,  Irish  pup,  to  talk  with  such  cursed 
impudence  to  a  descendant  of  one  of  the  oldest  houses 
in  England?"  The  general  laugh  sounded  again  and 
louder.  His  compatriots  seemed  strangely  wanting  in 
respect  for  his  pretensions. 

I  smiled  contemptuously.  "That  you  area  descend- 
ant I  can  well  believe,"  I  told  him.  "Whatever  your 
antecedents,  and  I  find  it  difficult  to  believe  them  as 
you  say,  yours  is  a  descent  in  all  senses  of  the  word." 

His  naturally  heavy  wits  being  further  deadened 
with  his  drams,  the  subtle  irony  of  this  thrust  was 
not  at  once  patent  to  him.  But  the  roars  about  him 
fired  him  to  sudden  understanding  and  to  blazing 
wrath.  The  menial  had  arrived  with  the  liquid  he 
had  ordered.  Snatching  the  glass  from  the  fellow's 
hand,  he  lunged  at  me. 


158    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

One  hand  sought  my  throat  while  the  other  was 
extended,  the  glass  tilted  in  his  hand  in  order  to 
pour  the  stuff  into  my  mouth.  Furiously  cautious, 
I  evaded  the  one  clutching  hand,  and,  wrenching  the 
glass  from  the  other  with  a  quick  twist,  I  flung  the 
fiery  fluid  straight  into  his  evil  face.  Snorting  and 
gasping  he  rubbed  his  blinded  eyes,  while  men  sprang 
forward  and  held  both  of  us. 

My  anger  suddenly  cooled  as  I  remembered  my  posi- 
tion there.  I  stood  quietly  in  the  grasp  of  the 
restrainers.  Meanwhile  my  enemy  was  bellowing  like 
a  mad  bull,  wild  to  get  at  me.  Horrible  oaths  broke 
from  him. 

"Let  me  go,  I'll  kill  him!"  he  shouted.  There 
followed  a  torrent  of  blistering  imprecations. 

"  Chichester,"  expostulated  an  officer  indignantly, 
"this  is  a  sorry  spectacle  for  any  man  wearing  His 
Majesty's  uniform." 

"His  Majesty  be  d d!"  vociferated  the  riotous 

subject.  And  I,  for  one  among  that  company  secretly 
endorsed  the  sentiment. 

"Oh,  I'll  cut  him  to  pieces  !"  snarled  my  opponent, 
still  struggling  to  be  free.  "He  questioned  my 
descent!" 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  I  urged,  the  ludicrous  aspect  of 
the  situation  suddenly  striking  me,  "  witness  you  all 
that  that  is  not  true.  I  did  not  question  it." 

A  gust  of  laughter  sounded,  during  which  Militia 
Captain  Egbert  Chichester,  as  I  found  my  opponent 
to  be,  was  hustled  away,  still  bewailing  in  maudlin 
fashion  the  aspersion  which  he  conceived  to  have 
been  cast  upon  his  genealogical  tree.  He  was  liter- 
ally forced  into  his  bed  by  some  officers,  where  he  was 
soothed  with  more  drink,  finally  sinking  into  a 
drunken  slumber. 


AT  THE  KING'S  INN  159 

"This  Chichester  is  a  great  deal  of  a  bully,"  ob- 
served Lieutenant  Langham  with  quiet  contempt. 
He  was  a  fine  young  fellow  with  whom  I  was  ~on- 
versing.  "You  pursued  the  right  course  with  him, 
the  only  one  which  a  man  with  red  blood  in  him 
could  have  taken  under  circumstances  so  ex- 
asperating. He  should  have  received  the  lesson  long 
since.  He  is  not  one  of  us,"  he  explained  apolo- 
getically. "His  field  of  effort  lies  with  the  militia. 
This  is  a  public  place,  you  know,  and,"  with  an 
expressive  shrug,  "he  is  simply  tolerated." 

"I  suppose  I  may  expect  a  call  from  his  friend 
to-morrow,"  I  hazarded. 

The  lieutenant  smiled,  elevating  his  brows.  "Per- 
haps," he  drawled.  "Yet,  when  the  fellow  is  sobered, 
he  may  reflect  that  these  affairs  are  not  desirable  in 
any  branch  of  the  service.  Moreover,  he  may  recall 
the  fact  that  discretion,  in  the  matter  of  the  preser- 
vation of  one's  skin,  is  an  admirable  virtue."  His 
shoulders  lifted  again  in  an  eloquent  shrug. 

I  talked  for  some  time  with  the  officers,  whom  I 
found  to  be  thoroughly  good  fellows.  I  may  record 
that  I  was  not  again  asked  to  imbibe.  They  were 
gentlemen  and  respected  my  recent  vigorous  objection 
to  dramming.  As  for  the  snoring  sot  upstairs,  I  had 
learned  that  he  was  not  one  of  them  and  felt  relief 
accordingly,  for  'twould  have  been  a  pity  to  have  thus 
marred  so  gallant  a  crew. 

As  the  conversation  concerned  the  projected  anni- 
hilation of  our  defenses,  the  talk  being  fluently  cease- 
less by  grace  of  the  libations,  I  found  myself  in 
constant  receipt  of  valuable  information,  which  I 
mentally  recorded.  The  work  of  a  spy,  to  be  sure. 
But  a  spy,  at  the  constant  jeopardy  of  his  threatened 
neck,  works  for  the  honor  of  his  flag  and  country, 


160  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

and  I  well  knew  there  was  not  one  of  the  gallant 
fellows  with  whom  I  was  talking  who  would  not 
welcome  the  chance  to  render  his  king  a  similar 
service  in  the  land  of  the  enemy. 

It  was  well  toward  the  morning  when  the  company 
dispersed  and  I,  taking  leave  of  them,  repaired  to 
the  room  assigned  me  to  sink  into  a  heavy  slumber. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
A  Duel  and  a  Revelation 

I  rose  early,  and  having  breakfasted,  walked  down 
the  street  to  the  dockyards,  where  I  could  hear  the 
incessant  ring  of  hammers.  The  day  was  perfect. 
The  sun  flamed  in  the  blue  sky,  but  its  heat  was 
tempered  by  a  cool  breeze  that  blew  from  the  lake, 
ruffling  the  green  of  the  harbor. 

I  wandered  leisurely  about,  using  my  eyes.  The 
enemy's  resources  were  easily  double  our  own.  His 
fleet  was  far  more  formidable  and  his  land  troops 
were  largely  seasoned  regulars,  in  goodly  force,  con- 
trasting dishearteningly  with  our  own  mere  handful 
of  experienced  men.  True,  we  each  had  also  the 
militia,  but  our  men  were  raw  and  untrained  and  I 
had  grave  doubts  of  their  efficiency.  I  made  no 
doubt  that  the  enemy  was  in  similar  case.  Then,  too, 
there  was  the  coalition  which  the  enemy  had  effected 
with  the  Indians,  whom  I  feared  might  be  depended 
upon  to  smite  us  vengefully  whenever  the  oppor- 
tunity afforded.  The  redskins  looked  upon  the 
settlers  of  the  new  country  as  interlopers,  as  they 
did  the  French  in  Canada.  The  English,  pursuing  a 
diplomatic  course,  had  for  years  fostered  the  red 
enmity  toward  us,  fanning  it  to  a  flame  until  they 
had  secured  them  as  pitiless  allies  Red  Rolfe  and  his 
band  furnished  a  striking  instance  of  this  tactful 
means  to  a  grim,  end,  though  after  all,  Rolfe  and  his 


1 62    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

predatory  cutthroats  were  mainly  concerned  for  them- 
selves, looking  to  their  own  advantage  and  holding 
themselves  amenable  to  no  regulations  that  con- 
flicted with  their  own  desires.  Theirs  was  a  guer- 
rilla warfare  of  the  most  lawless  type.  Their  mas- 
ters were  themselves  disgusted  with  them. 

But  the  significance  of  this  affiliation  smote  me  as 
I  recalled  the  vivid  account  of  the  lawless  leader 
and  his  red  scoundrels  given  me  by  the  miserly  hermit 
I  had  met  but  a  few  hours  previously.  What  of  the 
fate  of  our  well  nigh  unprotected  frontier,  between 
Niagara  and  Champlain,  when  red  death  should 
swoop  down  upon  it  in  the  shape  of  scarlet  coats 
and  their  tawny  allies?  There  was  a  stir  of  swift 
and  deadly  preparation  in  Frontenac,  while  at  Os- 
wego,  Sackets  Harbor,  Port  Putnam  and  Ogdens- 
burgh,  keys  to  the  entire  shore  line  of  Ontario  and 
the  upper  St.  Lawrence,  were  feeble  garrisons  of  mere 
handfuls  of  regular  troops,  tentatively  supported  by 
a  raw,  naturally  timorous  militia,  unused  to  warfare, 
with  inadequate  munitions  which  no  prayers  of  Gen- 
eral Brown  to  the  dilatory  powers  could  augment. 

I  stood  in  gloomy  reflection  upon  the  dock,  gazing 
out  upon  the  harbor.  The  Royal  George  lay  at 
anchor,  her  canvas  furled,  lazily  cradled  in  the  swells 
that  slid  gently  under  the  breath  of  the  soft  wind. 
Several  other  ships  lay  near  her,  most  of  which,  as  I 
remembered,  had  assisted  recently  in  helping  the  flag- 
ship to  break  the  Sabbath.  Swarms  of  men  were 
still  busy  on  the  Royal  George  and  other  ships 
repairing  the  damage  wrought  on  that  memorable 
occasion  by  the  Old  Sow  and  her  lesser  companions. 
My  mouth  resolved  itself  into  a  grim  smile,  which, 
however,  speedily  froze.  I  turned  my  back  upon  the 
prospect  and  slowly  walked  away  toward  the  town. 


A  DUEL  AND  A  REVELATION  163 

I  had  suddenly  observed  on  the  deck  of  the  Royal 
George  the  young  officer  who  had  delivered  Earle's 
Sunday  ultimatum  to  John.  Perhaps  he  had  seen 
me  at  that  time,  as  I  stood  close  to  Godfrey,  and  I 
had  no  wish  to  test  the  young  fellow's  memory  for 
faces. 

I  spent  some  further  time  in  quietly  gaining  some 
further  facts  regarding  the  town's  defences  and  the 
plans,  so  far  as  they  were  made.  I  could  not  learn 
that  there  was  any  immediate  further  attack  arranged, 
but  the  temper  of  all  Frontenac  showed  that  the 
sooner  another  was  made  the  better  they  would  like 
it.  British  pride  had  been  stung  to  the  quick  by 
that  first  repulse.  That  a  miserable  hamlet  like  ours 
had  withstood  their  sally  was  a  source  of  wonder 
to  them,  and  the  contempt  they  felt  for  our  equip- 
ment from  the  beginning  was  now  tinged  with  a  mer- 
ciless rancor  that  boded  ill  for  us,  did  they  once 
succeed  in  scaling  the  rocky  wall  of  our  natural 
barrier. 

After  a  time  I  walked  leisurely  back  toward  the 
inn,  meeting  knots  of  the  soldiery  on  the  way.  I 
met  several  of  the  officers  who  had  witnessed  my 
affair  with  the  drunken  Chichester  the  night  before. 
They  greeted  me  with  cordiality,  and  it  was  easy  to 
see  that  my  clipping  of  the  bully's  claws  had  pro- 
duced a  general  satisfaction  among  his  acquaintances. 

But  now,  as  I  stood  near  the  door  of  the  inn, 
talking  with  some  of  my  new  acquaintances,  a 
young  fellow  of  forbidding  countenance,  in  the 
uniform  of  a  militia  officer,  approached  me.  I  remem- 
bered to  have  seen  him  with  Chichester,  assisting  in 
holding  him,  after  I  had  drenched  the  captain  in  the 
tap  room. 

"Lieutenant  Stranahan,  I  believe,  sir?"  he  queried. 


1 64  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  responded.  He  bore  the  unmistakable 
stamp  of  the  emissary. 

"I  am  Lieutenant  Benson,  of  Captain  Chichester's 
company,"  said  he,  "and  I  represent  my  friend  and 
superior  officer.  You  grossly  insulted  him  last  night. 
I  am  commissioned  to  request  you  to  afford  him 
satisfaction." 

"As  for  the  insult,  sir,"  I  responded  sarcastically, 
"I  had  labored  under  the  delusion  that  it  was  offered 
me.  However,  I  am  willing  that  your  friend  shall 
have  whatever  satisfaction  he  can  obtain  at  any 
time  or  place." 

I  turned  to  one  of  my  new  acquaintances.  "Lieu- 
tenant Carew,"  I  inquired,  "will  you  act  for  me  in 
this  matter?" 

He  smiled  slightly.  "Lieutenant,"  said  he,  "this  is 
very  irregular,  so  serious  a  quarrel  between  officers 
of  the  service;  but  I  will  act  for  you  if  you  wish  it. 
Meanwhile,"  he  added,  coldly  addressing  Lieutenant 
Benson,  "I  would  suggest  that  all  of  us  maintain  a 
becoming  reticence  regarding  this  affair.  When  do 
you  propose  it  shall  occur?" 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  I  put  in  savagely,  for, 
because  of  the  hidden  delicacy  of  my  mission,  the 
thing  annoyed  me,  though  in  honor  I  could  not 
recede,  nor  would  in  any  case. 

"And  the  weapons?"  continued  my  second.  "I 
believe  we  have  the  choice." 

"Pistols  will  suit  me,"  I  replied.  Benson  bowed 
and  retired. 

Lieutenant  Carew  laughed.  "I  expected  this,"  he 
said.  "Chichester  has  been  prize  bully  and  cock  of 
the  walk  so  thoroughly  here,  among  those  whom  he 
dared  to  dominate,  that  your  dousing  him  last  night 
has  combined  with  his  potations  to  give  him  a  sour 


A  DUEL  AND  A  REVELATION  165 

stomach  this  morning,  thereby  also  screwing  up 
his  courage.  He  will  shoot  to  kill  and  it  behooves 
you  to  do  the  same.  I  pray  you  may  be  first — and 
successful." 

"He  seemed  last  night  to  be  peculiarly  punctilious 
about  his  ancestry,"  I  mused.  "  It  seems  rather 
ridiculous  as  I  recall  it  now." 

Carew  smiled  sarcastically.  "When  in  his  cups," 
he  answered,  "which  is  most  of  his  time,  he  never 
tires  of  talking  of  an  imaginary  family,  whom  nobody 
knows.  I  believe  he  boasts  of  noble  blood.  Perhaps 
he  possesses  it — on  one  side,"  a  sneer  accompanying 
the  innuendo.  "But,  to  speak  seriously,  it  is  considered 
generally  as  doubtful  whether  he  knows  of  this  family 
himself.  It  is  believed  hereabouts  that  he  is  a  name- 
less adventurer,  though  he  undoubtedly  receives 
something  of  an  income  from  some  mysterious  source. 
What  freak  drove  him  into  the  service  and  here,  no 
one  knows.  He  was  probably  driven  from  every- 
where else.  This  fellow  Benson  is  a  satellite  of  his. 
He  is,  if  possible,  a  bigger  blackguard.  Had  Chi- 
chester  not  been  drunk,  as  he,  however,  usually  is, 
he  would  not  have  presumed  to  have  affronted  you 
last  night.  We  were  minded  to  interfere,  but  thought 
you  amply  able  to  take  care  of  yourself,  as  you 
proved." 

We  repaired  to  the  inn,  where  we  were  shortly 
joined  by  Lieutenant  Benson,  who  returned  with  the 
information  that  our  speedy  answer  to  Chichester's 
challenge  was  a  source  of  much  satisfaction  to  that 
gentleman.  The  preliminaries  were  soon  arranged. 
The  affair  was  to  occur  at  three  that  afternoon  in 
an  unobtrusive  spot  outside  the  town,  which  I  was 
informed  had  been  the  scene  of  previous  affairs  of  a 
similar  nature.  Chichester  had  himself,  for  a  trifling 


1 66  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

provocation,  shot  a  French  Canadian  civilian  there 
only  a  month  previous. 

"It  was  cold  blooded  murder,"  declared  Carew,  in 
speaking  of  the  affair.  "The  man  was  almost  uncon- 
versant  with  firearms,  and  Chichester,  who  is  a  good 
shot,  knew  it.  He  deliberately  picked  a  quarrel  with 
the  poor  devil  and  then  called  him  out.  It  was  done 
without  the  knowledge  of  the  regulars  or  we  would 
have  prevented  it.  The  man,  though  he  knew  he  was 
doomed,  went  to  his  death  like  a  stoic.  Chichester 
killed  him  like  a  dog." 

1  said  nothing,  but  a  sullen  hatred  of  the  coward 
welled  within  me.  At  the  noon  hour  we  lunched. 
Afterward,  Carew,  who  had  a  case  of  dueling  pistols, 
produced  them.  I  found  them  to  be  excellent 
weapons.  Shortly  after,  Carew  went  out,  strolling 
over  to  Chichester's  quarters.  He  shortly  returned. 

"The  brute  is  in  a  murderous  rage  against  you, 
but  his  aim  is  likely  to  be  deflected,"  he  said  dryly. 
"He  has  been  punishing  brandy  all  the  morning  I 
am  told." 

A  little  later  we  set  out  for  the  rendezvous.  The 
matter  had  been  well  guarded,  and,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  two  other  officers  who  had  been  with  Carew 
and  myself  when  the  challenge  was  delivered,  none 
knew  of  it.  We  quickly  left  the  town  and  were  soon 
upon  the  spot  selected.  The  underbrush  and  small 
timber  had  been  cut  away,  forming  a  pleasant  grove. 
In  the  center  there  was  a  large  open  place,  the 
ground  of  which  was  as  level  as  a  floor. 

We  had  been  there  but  a  few  moments  when  Chi- 
chester and  his  second,  Benson,  arrived.  The  militia 
captain  was  in  an  awful  mood  and  his  eyes  glowed  in 
his  coarse,  blotchy  face  like  the  sullen,  dull-red  embers 
of  a  dying  fire.  The  lids  were  puffed  and  above  the 


A  DUEL  AND  A  REVELATION  167 

upper  ones  there  swarmed  a  web-like  network  of  tiny, 
swollen,  red  veins.  The  whole  hateful  face  of  the 
fellow,  bulging  with  brutishness,  was  eloquent  of 
alcohol  and  alive  with  low  malice.  He  strode  upon 
the  seen  ewithout  recognition  of  any  one  present. 
Reaching  upward  to  push  back  his  cap,  I  observed 
that  his  hand  shook  slightly,  the  result  of  dramming. 

My  second  turned  doubtfully  toward  Lieutenant 
Benson.  "I  see  you  have  brought  no  surgeon,"  he 
observed  coldly.  "I  spoke  to  you  this  morning — 

Benson  interrupted  him.  "There  will  be  no  neces- 
sity for  one,"  said  he,  with  an  insultingly  contempt- 
uous glance  in  my  direction.  "The  man  who  will  fall 
here  will  be  beyond  the  service  of  a  surgeon."  I 
grated  my  teeth.  "Let  it  go,"  I  told  Carew,  who  had 
turned  inquiringly  to  me.  "It  may  be  as  he  says." 

It  was  soon  arranged.  I  had  nothing  of  fear,  or 
even  the  natural  nervousness  I  might  have  felt  had 
I  been  about  to  do  battle  with  an  equal.  The  man 
before  me  maddened  me.  I  was  conscious  only  of  a 
fierce,  impelling  desire  to  shoot  to  kill,  when  the  time 
was  come.  I  had  never  before  felt  the  lust  for  blood, 
but  there  comes  to  most  men  a  moment,  when,  con- 
fronted by  some  hideous,  reptilian  travesty  of  man, 
the  thin  veneer  of  civilization  seems  brushed  away 
like  a  cobweb,  and  the  primal  stands  out,  terribly 
insistent,  mad  with  the  savage  longing  to  crush,  to 
stamp  out  and  to  destroy. 

Stripped  of  coats  and  waistcoats,  ready  for  action, 
we  waited  the  word,  motionless,  facing  one  another, 
right  arms  extended,  the  sun  glinting  the  long  pol- 
ished barrels  of  our  weapons.  A  very  demon  writhed 
in  Chichester's  face. 

Now  Carew  was  counting.  "One, —  two,"  and  the 
word  had  hardly  left  his  mouth  when  the  cur  opposite 


1 68  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

me  fired.  The  ball  whizzed  harmlessly  over  my  head. 
Chichester  had  aimed  too  high;  it  was  the  brandy. 

I  heard  cries  of  "Shame  !"  from  Carew  and  the  two 
men  near  him.  A  blistering  curse  fell  from  Chiches- 
ter's  lips.  His  face  told  the  condemning  truth,  for 
it  had  been  no  accident.  He  had  anticipated  the 
word  deliberately  and  had  shot  to  kill. 

An  instant's  relaxation  and  I  had  again  levelled 
my  pistol  full  at  him.  The  pitiful  coward  instinctively 
reeled  backward,  his  bloated  face  paling  visibly.  I 
crooked  my  elbow  and  shot  into  the  air,  then  threw 
the  weapon  on  the  ground.  All  the  elementary  pas- 
sion of  the  primeval  surged  through  me;  the  brutal, 
animal  instinct  to  maim,  to  stamp  upon,  to  seize  a 
gasping  throat  with  hungry  hands  and  knead  it  in  a 
very  ecstasy  of  savagery. 

"You  d — — d  dog !"  I  cried,  my  voice  grown  strange 
in  my  own  ears ;  "you  treacherous  hound !  Your 
beast's  carcass  is  not  worth  a  shot,  you  carrion ! 
Fists  were  made  before  foils  or  bullets  !  Defend  your- 
self!" And,  wrenching  myself  from  Carew,  who  tried 
to  hold  me,  I  rushed  full  at  the  hound. 

He  had  the  lower  animal  courage  that  marks  the 
brute  when  cornered.  He  stood  his  ground,  and, 
as  I  reached  him,  he  struck  at  me  with  a  snarl,  all 
the  strength  of  his  burly  body  behind  the  blow.  I 
dodged  and  it  grazed  the  side  of  my  head,  staggering 
me  slightly.  Then  I  dealt  him  a  smashing  blow 
on  the  nose,  breaking  it  and  bringing  a  gush  of 
blood.  He  fell  like  a  log.  ' 

For  the  next  few  moments  I  saw  only  dimly  and 
through  a  red  haze.  All  the  madness  of  maniacal 
fury  possessed  me  and  I  gloried  in  it.  I  was  vaguely 
conscious  of  raining  blows  upon  a  pulpy,  battered 
face;  of  lovingly  locking  my  two  bruised  hands 


A  DUEL  AND  A  REVELATION  169 

around  a  fat,  red  throat  which  lent  itself,  with  pleas- 
ant softness,  to  the  clasp,  and  kneading  it  until  it 
cracked;  of  glaring  with  exceeding  joy  into  an  em- 
purpled face  and  a  pair  of  protruding  eyeballs,  like 
pale-blue  marbles  edged  with  red;  of  noting  with 
glee  the  shivering  and  extended  length  of  a  lolling 
tongue.  And  finally  I  was  conscious  of  insistent 
hands  that  tore  me,  reluctant,  from  the  quivering 
shape  on  the  grass;  of  horror  stricken  faces  that 
gazed  into  my  own. 

"Good  God!"  I  heard  Carew  saying,  as  if  it  had 
come  from  some  one  far  away,  "  do  you  want  to 
kill  the  man — that  way?" 

And  then  the  mists  gradually  cleared  away  from 
my  eyes  and  brain,  and  I  hope  my  face  began  to  look 
more  like  that  of  a  human  being.  Chichester  was 
writhing  on  the  ground,  gasping  and  clutching  at  his 
throat.  His  face  was  horrible.  Lieutenant  Benson 
stood  by,  surveying  me  with  the  scared  look  he  might 
have  bestowed  upon  a  wild  beast  rampant. 

"Don't  you  think,  after  all,"  I  asked  him,  with 
savage  sarcasm,  "  that  you  would  have  done  well  to 
bring  a  surgeon?" 

I  turned  to  Carew.  "  Help  to  take  care  of  him,  will 
you?"  I  asked.  "I'm  off  for  a  stroll.  I  want  to 
be  alone  awhile."  I  left  them  abruptly,  breaking 
through  the  underbrush,  hurrying  as  if  pursued. 

My  head  was  still  whirling.  The  wretched  affair  had 
wrenched  every  fibre  of  my  being.  I  smouldered  with 
hate  of  the  coward  who  had  violated  every  tenet  of  the 
code.  So  had  I,  but  my  brutal  avengement  of  his  act 
as  yet  only  partially  appeased  me.  Still,  I  no  longer 
wished  the  cur's  death;  he  was  after  all  hardly 
worth  the  killing.  Yet  I  longed  to  wash  my  hands. 
Ere  long  I  came  to  a  little  brook  and  did  so. 


170  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

My  knuckles  were  badly  barked  and  began  swell- 
ing. I  filled  my  pipe  with  stiffened  fingers  and  kept 
on,  circling  through  the  forest,  back  toward  the 
town. 

Presently  I  came  in  sight  of  a  straggling  road. 
Emerging  upon  it  I  found  that  it  led  to  Frontenac 
and  was  sparsely  lined  with  houses,  forming  an  outly- 
ing district  of  the  town.  Some  distance  away  was 
the  shore  line,  the  green  water  sparkling  in  the  sun- 
light. I  walked  leisurely  up  the  street,  which  ran 
parallel  with  the  shore.  Modest  cottages  now  flanked 
it  at  intervals  on  either  side. 

Near  one  of  these  I  threw  myself  down,  reclining 
on  the  grass  which  fringed  a  neat  fence  enclosing  the 
yard  of  the  dwelling.  Flowers  grew  within ;  the  chirp- 
ing of  birds  filled  the  air.  With  half  closed  eyes  I 
puffed  on,  my  troubled  spirit  calming  as  I  watched 
the  curling  smoke  wreaths  through  narrowed  lids. 

An  incessant  chirping,  directly  over  my  head,  at- 
tracted my  attention.  I  looked  up  and  saw  a  red- 
breast, perched  on  the  fence,  peering  curiously  at  me 
with  beady  eyes.  I  lay  quietly  watching  him.  Pres- 
ently he  fluttered  down,  and,  hopping  around  almost 
within  my  reach,  pecked  gingerly  at  the  grass.  Curi- 
ous bird,  I  reflected — and  oddly  tame. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  yard  behind  me.  The  bird 
rose  in  the  air;  his  flight  was  strangely  awkward. 

"Toti!"  cried  a  voice,  a  voice  like  sweet  bells. 
"Come  here,  you  silly  rascal!"  I  leaped  to  my  feet 
and  turned. 

"Why,  m'sieur !"  exclaimed  the  voice,  "M'sieur  War- 
burton!"  And  standing  there,  sweet  eyes  wide  and 
startled,  white  teeth  gleaming  through  parted,  smiling 
lips,  soft  hair  stirring  in  the  fragrant  breeze,  stood,  in 
the  flesh,  herself,— Renee ! 


• 


CHAPTER  XIX 
A  Friend  in  Philistia 

In  the  flesh, — Renee !  I  stared  incredulous,  super- 
stitious fear  dilating  my  eyes.  It  was  a  chimera  of 
my  brain,  for  my  head  was  swimming;  it  must  be 
that  my  eyes  saw  things  unseen;  that  the  echoes  of 
a  voice  that  lived  only  in  memory  rang  in  my  ears. 
But  it  sounded  again;  now  with  a  sharper  note;  still 
like  bells,  but  somewhat  jangled. 

"M'sieur  Warburton,"  it  said  with  some  exaspera- 
tion, "why  do  you  stand  and  stare  in  that  blood- 
curdling way?  Am  I  so  hideous?  It  is  positively 
idiotic,  sir !" 

"Mam'selle,"  I  said  slowly,  still  fearing  that  I 
dreamed  it,  but  quickened  with  the  rush  of  exceeding 
joy;  "are  you  really  alive?" 

"As  you  find  me,"  she  replied,  demure  and  dim- 
pling. "It  is  very  warm." 

"Thank  God!"  I  burst  out,  stepping  closer  to  her, 
seizing  both  her  small,  extended  hands  in  mine  and 
holding  them  as  if  I  would  never  let  them  go.  She 
stared  at  me  blankly,  wide-eyed. 

"Ciel!  Why  such  vehemence,  m'sieur?"  she  cried. 
"I  could  understand  it  if  it  were  cooler." 

"No,  not  that!"  I  returned,  with  glad  impatience. 
"I  thought  you  dead,  Renee!" 

As  once  before,  she  ignored  my  use  of  her  Christian 


1 7  2    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

name,  unnoticed  now  as  then.  She  gazed  at  me, 
mystified,  her  sweet  eyes  wondering. 

"Thought  me  dead!"  she  repeated.  "Jamais! 
But,  why 

Her  eyes  suddenly  darkened,  arrested  by  a  flash  of 
inquiring  reflection.  They  swept  the  uniform  I  wore, 
alight  with  a  growing  scorn  and  anger,  which  I, 
being  immune,  enjoyed. 

"M'sieur  !"  she  demanded,  her  voice  bitingly  vibrant 
drawing  away  from  me;  "you,  in  that  uniform? 
How  happens  that,  s'il  vous  plait?" 

I  smiled  at  her.  "Mam'selle,"  I  submitted,  "how 
come  you  to  be  in  the  enemy's  country?" 

"I  make  assurance,"  she  rejoined  with  hauteur, 
"that  is  from  necessity  and  not  from  choice.  But, 
you 

"And  I,"  I  interrupted,  "can  but  plead  the  same. 
Should  our  mutual  enemies,"  I  added  grimly,  "sus- 
pect my  real  identity,  I  should  be  immediately  ex- 
posed to  a  serious  throat  affection  and  my  breath- 
ing would  be  permanently  impaired.  But  they  know 
me,  fortunately,  as  another.  Allow  me  to  introduce 
to  you  Lieutenant  Percy  Stranahan,  of  His  Majesty's 
Service,"  and  I  bowed. 

A  relieved  laugh,  in  which  rippled  genuine  joy, 
escaped  her.  "  A  nom  de  guerre !  Ah,  then,  you 
are  a  spy!"  she  cried  happily.  "You  are  not  a 
traitor,  which  seemed  a  horrible  possibility  for  a 
moment.  Pardonnez  moi,  m'sieur!"  and  she  swept 
me  a  curtsey. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  with  an  apprehensive  glance 
around,  "but  pray  speak  softly,  mam'selle,  for  on 
this  side  one  is  apt  to  be  held  in  as  little  esteem  as 
the  other." 

"  Your  pardon,"  she  rejoined.    "  Perhaps  I  should 


A  FRIEND  IN  PHILISTIA  173 

not  have  used  the  term,  but  to  my  mind,  m'sieur,  the 
word  spy  is  a  noble  one  that  is  hateful  only  to  the 
enemy.  It  takes  resource  and  much  of  courage  to  be 
a  spy,  does  it  not?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  I  answered  vaguely.  "At  least, 
not  yet.  You  see,  mam'selle,  I  have  not  been  spying 
long  enough.  Later,  perhaps, — 

Her  eyes  had  caught  sight  of  my  bruised,  puffed 
knuckles.  "Why,  m'sieur,"  she  broke  in,  "whatever  is 
the  matter  with  your  shocking  hands?" 

"They  suffered  accident,"  I  answered  evasively.  But 
being  pressed,  I  told  her  of  my  encounter  with 
Chichester.  My  heart  misgave  me  that  she  would  find 
me  unspeakably  brutal,  but  my  fears  were  set  at  rest. 

"M'sieur  Warburton,"  she  told  me,  with  shining 
eyes,  "you  have  at  least  proved  that  you  have  the 
courage  which  a  spy  must  need  and  I  think  you  have 
also  much  resource.  As  for  that  brute,  you  should 
have  killed  him  ! " 

"I  suppose  I  should,"  I  answered  ruefully,  "but  I 
flew  mad  and  hammered  him  instead." 

"But  that  is  what  I  mean!"  she  exclaimed,  with 
charming  savagery.  "Why  did  you  not  kill  him  that 
way?" 

"But,  mam'selle!"  I  muttered,  aghast. 

"0,  I  know  what  the  world  says  of  the  code,"  she 
averred,  "and  that  it  debars  from  gentlemen  the 
use  of  their  fists,  which  God  gave  them,  and  substi- 
tutes weapons,  which  He  did  not.  You  did  right  to 
thrash  him,  je  vous  assure.  He  tried  to  murder  you. 
Ah,  how  you  must  have  mauled  him !  I  should 
loved  to  have  seen  it!"  And  she  clasped  her  little 
hands,  her  eyes  shining. 

"Mam'selle!"  I  exclaimed  in  dismay.  "No,  you 
would  not;  you  do  not  mean  it!" 


174  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"I  do,  I  do!"  she  retorted.  "O,  m'sieur,  I  hate  a 
coward!  Were  I  able,  I  would  thrash  one  myself!" 

It  was  a  bewildering  flash  of  a  phase  of  the  complex 
feminine  nature.  Strangely  incongruous  it  might  seem 
for  the  moment,  yet  the  very  tenderness  that  lies, 
like  a  deep  pool,  in  the  heart  of  a  woman, — the  in- 
herent gentleness  that  gushes  in  her  being  like  a 
spring, — furnishes  in  itself  abundant  explanation  of 
the  seeming  anomaly.  Filled  with  a  chaste  love  for 
true  nobility  and  the  higher  ideals,  the  base  or  igno- 
ble rouses  in  her  a  spirit  of  the  most  passionate 
resentment,  an  alluring  savagery.  Such  I  now  saw 
and  began  to  believe  that  I  had  done  a  creditable 
thing.  I  gazed  into  her  eyes,  bright  with  an  anger 
which  I  found  only  satisfying;  into  her  face,  flushed 
pink  with  health  and  heat,  and  was  content. 

"But,  mam'selle,"  I  asked,  "tell  me  of  that  which 
concerns  yourself.  How  came  you  here?  Where  is 
your  father?" 

"Father  is  inside,"  she  answered  sadly.  "He  is  so 
wan,  so  pale,  that  I  fear  you  will  scarcely  know  him, 
m'sieur.  He  is  sleeping  now.  You  shall  see  him  pres- 
ently. As  to  our  coming  here,  we  came  against  our 
will  and  we  shall  return  as  soon  as  he  is  able." 

"I  know,"  I  answered  grimly.  "You  were  brought 
here  by  the  man  you  saw  with  John  and  I  that  day 
at  the  cabin,  the  man  you  were  not  obliged  to  endure 
at  your  dinner  table.  Do  you  remember?" 

"True,"  she  replied,  with  a  startled  glance  at  me, 
"but  how  did  you  know?" 

"Tell  me  about  it  first,"  I  rejoined,  "and  then  I  will 
tell  you  how  we  knew." 

"It  was  a  terrible  experience,  m'sieur,"  she  returned. 
"When  you  and  Monsieur  Godfrey  left  us  last  autumn, 
we  passed  the  lonely  winter  quietly  enough,  though 


A  FRIEND  IN  PHILISTIA  175 

occasional  hunters  brought  us  startling  reports  of 
the  growing  trouble  between  the  States  and  England 
and  of  the  preparations.  Finally,  after  what  seemed 
an  interminable  time,  the  spring  came  on  and  brought 
the  birds  and  I  found  comfort  in  them.  But  the 
reports  came  thicker  and  faster  as  more  trappers 
passed  our  way,  and  father  and  I  began  to  reflect 
that  the  time  might  be  arrived  for  us  to  act  as  you 
suggested  and  make  our  way  to  Sackets  Harbor. 
We  were  preparing  to  do  so  when  there  occurred  the 
interruption." 

"It  was  warm  that  day  and  dry,  the  sun  shining 
brilliantly.  Father  had  been  ailing  for  several  days 
and  I  was  caring  for  him.  I  had  just  been  to  the 
river  to  feed  my  pigeons.  It  was  about  two  of  the 
afternoon  and  I  was  preparing  for  dinner.  Father 
was  sitting,  quite  ill,  in  the  living  room.  Through 
it  was  quite  warm,  he  suffered  from  chills  and  was 
feverish.  I  was  worried  for  him." 

"  Suddenly  I  heard  a  step,  and,  looking  up,  who 
should  confront  me  but  that  monster,  m'sieur.  He 
looked  at  us  with  evil  eyes.  Behind  him,  on  the 
porch,  stood  several  big  Indians.  We  stared  at  them, 
father  and  I.  The  leader  blinked  his  wicked,  cattish 
eyes  a  moment,  then  spoke." 

"'You  were  about  getting  dinner,  were  you, 
mam'selle?  he  asked,  in  that  strange,  rolling  voice 
that  is  so  like  an  organ, — you  remember  it,  m'sieur? 
'Well,  you  need  not  trouble.  You  will  dine  with  us 
further  north.' 

"  *  What  do  you  mean  ?'  demanded  my  father.  *  If 
this  is  a  jest,  it  is  a  sorry  one.' 

" '  It  is  no  jest,'  replied  the  leader.  '  If  war  is  not 
declared  already  against  this  puling  country,  it  will 
be  very  shortly.  I  mean  to  anticipate  it.  You  and 


176  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

your  fetching  daughter,  M'sieur  De  Montefort,  will 
accompany  me  to  the  Canadian  frontier,  for  certain 
reasons  of  my  own.'  And  he  bestowed  upon  me  a 
look  that  was  horrible." 

"He  called  his  savages  and  they  swarmed  into  the 
room.  He  told  us  to  prepare  at  once  to  accompany 
them." 

"Up  to  now  we  had  remained  nearly  paralyzed  with 
dismay.  But  now  my  father,  weak  as  he  was, 
bounded  from  his  chair  and  caught  up  his  rifle,  which 
had  been  resting  on  crotched  sticks  against  the  wall. 
He  had  shot  an  Indian  in  his  tracks  before  they 
knew  what  he  was  about.  Then,  as  they  made  a 
rush  for  us,  I  thrust  a  loaded  pistol  into  his  hand 
and  he  exploded  it  full  in  the  face  of  another  Indian. 
We  dashed  between  them  and  got  out  of  doors,  but, 
before  we  could  go  far,  they  overtook  us  in  front  of 
the  cabin,  and,  after  a  struggle,  overpowered  us. 
Father  would  have  been  killed  outright  by  the  In- 
dians, but  the  white  leader  leaped  in  front  of  them, 
beating  them  back." 

"'I  will  kill  the  first  of  you  that  harms  him!' 
he  cried.  'I  have  my  own  plans!  Stand  back!' 
They  sullenly  obeyed  him." 

"As  they  held  us  there,  captives,  the  bird  Toti 
yonder  fluttered  to  my  shoulder.  When  we  left  he 
accompanied  us.  I  carried  him,  m'sieur,  all  the  way. 
Ah,  he  was  comforting!" 

"Father  and  I  were  securely  guarded  by  some  of 
them,  after  our  capture,  while  the  leader  and  the 
others  dragged  the  two  bodies  away,  and  I  suppose 
buried  them  somewhere." 

I  started,  at  last  understanding.  Red  Rolfe's  keen 
and  wicked  wit  had  suggested  the  apparent  closing 
of  the  earthly  accounts  and  careers  of  the  Frenchman 


A  FRIEND  IN  PHILISTIA  177 

and  his  daughter,  for  he  knew  how  popular  they 
were  throughout  the  region.  By  this  ruse,  search  on 
the  part  of  ourselves  or  others  would  inevitably  end 
at  the  cabin.  It  was  plain  to  me  that  he  had  ex- 
pected John  and  I  to  return.  I  clenched  my  hands 
at  the  realization  of  the  fiend's  diabolical  cunning. 
The  rude  headboards !  A  piece  of  deception  grimly 
humorous  indeed. 

Renee's  narration  proceeded.  She  told  of  the  jour- 
ney northward  to  the  St.  Lawrence,  through  the 
forest  and  by  waterways  in  which  canoes  were  in 
readiness,  the  party  approaching  the  great  river 
with  swiftness.  M.  De  Montefort  grew  weaker  and 
was  quite  ill.  Rolfe  forced  the  savages,  who  would 
have  rather  killed  him,  to  carry  him  through  the 
rougher  places.  His  daughter,  torn  with  grief  and 
anxiety,  was  more  fearful  for  his  safety  than  for  her 
own. 

At  last  they  reached  the  St.  Lawrence,  at  a  point 
beyond  the  American  settlements,  crossing  the  broad 
current  in  their  canoes.  Rolfe  pushed  on  with  his 
party  some  distance  into  the  Canadian  forest,  finally 
camping  for  the  night.  The  next  day  they  proceeded 
in  a  northwesterly  direction,  keeping  far  away  from 
the  towns  that  lay  along  the  bank  of  the  river. 
Renee  began  to  be  seriously  alarmed.  She  had  dared 
hope  that  she  would  be  taken  with  her  father  to  be 
imprisoned  at  Frontenac  or  some  other  Canadian 
town. 

Had  he  not  been  so  weak  and  ill,  M.  De  Montefort 
and  his  daughter  might  have  attempted  escape,  but 
it  was  now  out  of  the  question.  The  Frenchman 
required  the  assistance  of  the  Indians  by  this  time 
to  make  any  headway  at  all,  and  seemed  to  grow 
worse  hourly.  Renee  was  in  despair,  her  disquietude 


1 78  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

being  increased  by  the  evil  glances  occasionally  be- 
stowed upon  her  by  the  wretch  who  led  the  accursed 
band.  But  she  maintained  a  brave  front,  hoping  for 
succor  from  some  vague  source. 

Progress  was  necessarily  laborious,  and,  as  the  route 
was  difficult,  they  made  but  a  short  distance  the 
first  day,  stopping  for  the  night  deep  in  the  silent 
woods.  Early  the  next  morning  they  were  again 
astir,  repeating  the  experience  of  the  preceding  day. 
So  it  went  until  they  came  upon  a  well  beaten  trail 
which  led  in  a  southwesterly  direction.  This  they 
followed,  making  good  headway. 

After  some  time  Renee  made  out  through  the  trees 
an  expanse  of  green  water,  which  widened  beyond 
some  islands  to  the  westward.  A  little  further  and 
she  perceived  that  they  had  arrived  close  to  the  foot 
of  Lake  Ontario.  Her  spirits  rose.  So  they  were  to 
be  taken  to  Frontenac  after  all.  They  were  close  to 
the  town. 

But  here  Rolfe  halted  his  villainous  crew.  He 
had  noticed  the  revived  animation  in  her  face  and 
an  evil  grin  distorted  his  own. 

"Here  we  proceed  northward  again,  my  lady," 
said  he.  "I  must  not  pass  too  close  to  the  houses 
just  now." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded.  "This  is 
the  way  to  Frontenac." 

"But  I  do  not  propose  bringing  you  to  Frontenac," 
he  replied  with  a  leer.  "There  are  many  there  more 
comely  than  I.  I  should  be  robbed  of  you.  This 
trail  was  convenient  for  a  season,  since  it  is  difficult 
smashing  through  the  woods,  encumbered  as  we  are 
with  your  useless  parent.  But  now  we  must  get 
into  the  thick  of  it  again,  since  it  is  to  the  north 
that  my  own  place  lies,  where  I  shall  bring  you." 


A  FRIEND  IN  PHILISTIA  179 

A  slow  horror  gripped  her.  "Why  do  you  not 
kill  us  now,"  she  moaned,  as  if  dazed,  "my  father 
and  I?" 

"Your  father  I  may  kill  later,  ma  chere,"  he  an- 
swered, leering  the  more,  "if  it  pleases  me.  As  for 
you,  never,  unless  it  be  with  kindness,"  and  he  made 
to  take  her  in  his  arms.  M.  De  Montefort,  pale  and 
trembling  with  anger,  leaped  forward,  but  was  re- 
strained by  the  savages. 

Renee  sprang  from  Rolfe  with  a  cry  of  fear.  With 
a  brutal  laugh  he  was  pressing  forward,  when  his 
collar  was  grasped  violently  from  behind  and  he  was 
hurled  backward. 

"What  is  this?"  demanded  a  man's  angry  voice. 
"My  dear  young  woman,  what  is  the  trouble?" 

A  tall  man  confronted  her,  in  the  uniform  of  a 
British  officer.  He  was  physically  in  his  vigorous 
prime,  though  the  strong  face  looked  seamed  and 
old  and  the  hair  was  nearly  white.  A  heavy  gray 
moustache  shaded  the  stern  mouth. 

Renee  poured  out  her  agitated  story.  During  the 
recital  Rolfe  remained  in  sullen  silence,  maintaining 
a  cheap  bravado.  His  Indians,  still  guarding  the 
Frenchman,  stood  impassive,  awaiting  the  word  of 
their  leader. 

The  officer  turned  to  them.  "Release  that  man!" 
he  ordered.  They  looked  inquiringly  at  the  fellow 
they  followed.  He  nodded  sulkily  and  M.  De  Monte- 
fort  was  thrust  violently  toward  his  daughter  and 
her  new-found  friend,  where  he  sank  exhausted  on 
the  ground. 

The  officer  spoke,  bitter  anger  in  his  voice.  "You 
who  choose  to  call  yourself  Red  Rolfe,"  he  said, 
"get  yourself  and  your  red  cut-throats  out  of  my 
sight  this  instant,  or  the  pack  of  you  shall  swing  in 


i8o  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

Frontenac !  I  wish  only  that  one  stood  in  my  place 
who  might  kill  you  now,  where  you  stand.  Now  go !" 

And  he  went,  without  a  word;  went  with  a  last 
baleful  look  out  of  his  yellow  eyes,  that  were  like 
those  of  a  blinking  cat,  heading  for  the  northward, 
and  took  his  red  devils  with  him. 

The  officer  proved  to  be  one  Major  Aberdeen,  stand- 
ing high  in  His  Majesty's  service  and  a  member  of  a 
distinguished  English  family.  He  would  gladly  have 
furnished  M.  De  Montefort  and  Renee  with  safe  con- 
duct back  to  the  American  side,  but  the  old  French- 
man was  now  seriously  ill  and  it  was  plain  that  he 
must  have  skilled  attention  at  once. 

In  her  extremity  Renee  found  Major  Aberdeen 
nobly  sympathetic.  He  made  arrangements  for  the 
harboring  of  the  fugitives  in  the  little  house  in  which 
I  had  found  them,  where  they  were  living  with  a 
pensioned  old  veteran,  John  Storrs  by  name,  who 
had  been  with  Major  Aberdeen's  forces  through  many 
historic  campaigns.  Finally  retired  and  having  fol- 
lowed his  former  commander  from  England,  he  was 
now  living  in  the  outskirts  of  Frontenac  with  his  old 
wife.  Medical  attendance  was  furnished  M.  De  Monte- 
fort  by  Major  Aberdeen,  the  Frenchman  being  found 
suffering  with  an  aggravated  fever.  Assiduous  nurs- 
ing had  been  given  him  and  he  was  now  better, 
though  still  very  weak.  He  could  not  be  moved  for 
some  time. 

"Then  you  will  have  to  remain  in  the  enemy's 
country  yet  awhile,"  I  observed  at  the  close  of 
Renee's  story,  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart,  for  I 
had  hoped  to  bring  them  back  with  me. 

"Yes,  m'sieur,"  she  answered  gently,  "but  one  of 
the  enemy  has  proved  a  noble  friend." 

I   smiled.    "More   than   he   would   prove   to    me, 


A  FRIEND  IN  PHILISTIA  181 

should  he  find  me  for  whom  I  am,"  I  commented 
grimly. 

I  told  her  of  the  stirring  events  which  had  tran- 
spired since  John  and  I  had  left  them;  of  the  prep- 
arations made;  of  the  unsuccessful  descent  upon  the 
harbor  by  Earle's  ships,  which  account,  as  it  had 
really  happened,  she  heard  with  pleasure  for  the 
first  time.  I  told  of  the  visit  John  and  I  had  made 
to  the  cabin  and  our  discovery  of  the  two  new  made 
graves. 

Her  eyes  widened.  "How  like  that  charmante 
fiend!"  she  exclaimed,  with  rising  wrath.  "Tres 
jolie,  to  be  sure !  He  intended  us  to  be  practically 
dead,  didn't  he?" 

"Evidently,"  I  returned.  "And  if  I  have  the  good 
fortune  to  encounter  him,  I  trust  there  will  be  no 
mistake  about  his  own  demise,  and  his  headboard 
will  contain  no  lying  information,  except  possibly 
his  name.  For  no  one  seems  to  exactly  know  his 
real  one." 

I  concluded  my  account  with  the  story  of  the  mis- 
sion entrusted  to  me  by  General  Brown  and  my  ex- 
periences in  Frontenac. 

"  But  your  simulation  of  this  Stranahan,"  she  said 
doubtfully.  "Is  it  not  dreadfully  risky?" 

I  smiled,  and  looking  about  discreetly,  told  her 
something  in  a  low  tone.  She  nodded  with  quick 
understanding,  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  novel 
situation  dawning  in  her  eyes. 

"A  moment,  Lieutenant,"  she  said,  "until  I  go  in 
for  a  word  with  my  father,  for  he  must  know  you, 
or  rather  meet  you,  for  whom  you  are  not.  Our 
friend  Storrs  and  his  good  wife  are  sturdy  loyalists," 
and  she  was  gone.  Presently  she  returned. 

"Ye  meet  as  strangers,"  she  smiled.    "Father  will 


1 82    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  BRAND  SEIGNEUR 

bestow  upon  you  the  languid  stare  of  chance  ac- 
quaintanceship. The  Storrs,  they  know  you  simply 
as  a  British  officer  who  has  strolled  hither  from  the 
garrison  yonder,  and,  beholding  me,  engaged  me  in 
informal  converse.  We  find  that  we  have  mutual 
friends.  Then  I  ask  you  to  remain  to  supper.  The 
Storrs  always  yearn  to  entertain  coats  hued  like 
yours." 

"I  will  remain  to  supper,"  I  said,  "but  shall  not 
go  back  to  the  town.  I  fear  Chichester's  condition 
may  lead  to  inquiry  that  would  be  apt  to  prove  em- 
barrassing to  me.  You  know  I  told  you  that  the 
man  who  sailed  me  here  was  to  wait  my  return- 
ing a  few  miles  above  the  town,  in  a  little  cove 
that  General  Brown  designated.  It  is  barely  possible 
that  he  escaped  drowning  and  his  boat  scuttling 
that  night.  After  supper  I  will  make  my  way  to  that 
point,  avoiding  the  town,  to  see  if  I  can  find  him. 
I  have  all  the  information  necessary  for  the  present 
and  wish  to  avoid  detection." 

"I  think  you  are  right,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 
"I  am  sorry  we  cannot  return  with  you,  but  when 
father  is  recovered,  be  sure  we  shall  come  to  our 
friends.  In  the  meantime,  God  keep  you,  m'sieur." 

"  And  you,"  I  answered  low.    We  entered  the  house. 

Lieutenant  Stranahan  met  M.  De  Montefort,  who 
acknowledged  his  daughter's  formal  introduction 
with  no  sign  of  former  intimate  acquaintance.  He 
was  sadly  changed  and  pale  with  weakness,  but  the 
indomitable  eye  flashed  a  discreet  welcome.  The 
Storrs  bustled  about  in  voluble  delight.  Supper  was 
prepared.  It  disappeared.  My  vigorous  exercise  had 
sharpened  my  appetite. 

I  stood  in  the  doorway,  muttering  my  formal 
adieux,  assenting  to  a  warm  hearted  proposal  to 


A  FRIEND  IN  PHILISTIA  183 

call  again.  I  touched  the  finger  tips  of  the  girl  I 
loved  in  formal  parting,  then  was  out  in  the  gather- 
ing dusk.  Gaining  the  road  I  looked  back.  She 
stood  in  the  open  doorway,  dimly  lovely  in  the 
gathering  shadows.  I  turned  with  a  heart  of  lead 
and  strode  on. 

I  gained  the  outlying  forest  by  a  detour  through 
the  unfrequented  portion  of  the  town.  A  silvery 
moon  lent  her  radiance  and  I  speedily  found  a  trail 
which  led  along  the  shore  of  the  lake,  westward 
through  the  forest. 

I  tramped  briskly  along  for  some  time,  finally 
coming  to  a  cove  like  that  General  Brown  had  de- 
scribed. A  single  boat  lay  close  at  hand.  I  hailed 
faintly.  A  reassuring  grunt  sounded  in  response. 
It  was  enough.  I  was  speedily  aboard. 

"So  you  were  not  drowned,"  I  observed  inanely, 
as  the  taciturn  helmsman,  a  self  evident,  breathing 
fact,  was  making  preparations  to  get  under  way. 
He  shook  his  head. 

"This  is  a  different  boat,"  I  ventured  again. 
"Where's  the  other?"  He  pointed  downward  com- 
prehensively. 

"  Gone  to  h — 1,"  he  explained  laconically.  "  I  might 
ha'  been  there  too,  only  I  swam  ashore.  Brown 
said  to  wait  here  for  you,  so  I  hung  around  Fron- 
tenac.  Saw  you  there  this  mornin'.  Stole  this  boat 
from  their  harbor  'bout  an  hour  ago." 

We  drifted  out  of  the  cove.  A  smart  breeze  caught 
the  sail,  and,  headed  southwest,  we  filled  away  for 
the  Harbor. 


CHAPTER  XX 

Gray  Wreathing  Mists 

John  removed  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  the  blue 
smoke  curling  lazily  from  the  bowl.  A  slight  wind, 
blowing  from  the  north,  ruffled  the  waters  of  the 
lake,  which  stretched  far  under  the  gray  November 
sky,  though  the  air  was  not  unpleasantly  chill.  We 
stood  near  the  brink  of  the  bluff,  the  grass  beneath 
our  feet  sere  and  brown. 

"  It  sounds  more  like  business  yonder,"  said  John, 
indicating  the  town  with  a  wave  of  his  pipe.  "  Who 
knows,  Gilbert,  but  that  we  may  one  day  do  some- 
thing here?" 

There  was  indeed  music  in  the  sound.  The  ring  of 
hammers,  in  harmonious  staccato,  came  to  our 
ears  from  the  dockyards,  where  was  building  the 
nucleus,  straight  from  the  forest  yonder,  of  the  for- 
midable fleet  with  which  Commodore  Isaac  Chauncey, 
— by  grace  of  national  authority,  though  some  later 
misdoubted  of  God,  the  commander  of  the  nation's 
naval  forces  upon  the  lakes — promised  to  sweep  Ontario 
and  the  St.  Lawrence  clear  of  British  shipping  and 
make  of  Sir  James  Yeo  but  a  bombastic  memory. 
Ah,  the  futility  of  words  unbacked  by  deeds !  The 
historians  grow  eloquent  of  Perry,  for  Erie's  waters 
in  a  single  hour  ran  red  with  blood,  while  those  of 
Ontario  in  three  long  years  were  scarcely  tinged. 
Commodore  Isaac  and  Sir  James,  with  all  due  allow- 


GRAY  WREATHING  MISTS  185 

ances  for  excellent  intentions,  were  ultra-conserva- 
tives in  warefare,  which  fact  my  old  hand  pens  more 
in  sorrow  than  in  anger,  for  the  hot  blood  cools 
under  the  frosts  of  the  added  years  and  those  whom 
I  and  others  criticised  in  the  olden  time  have  long 
been  dust. 

Commodore  Chauncey  had  arrived  at  the  Harbor 
early  in  October.  There  had  since  been  hewing  in  the 
forest  and  the  thews  of  lusty  brigs  sprawled  upon 
the  stocks.  Meanwhile,  during  the  summer,  General 
Brown  had  been  hammering  at  the  executive  doors, 
thundering  at  the  portals  at  Albany  and  causing 
earnest  presentments  of  the  necessities  to  be  made 
at  Washington.  Now  some  belated  good  was  coming 
out  of  the  national'  capital.  The  garrison  had  re- 
ceived reinforcements  of  regulars  and  the  defenses  of 
the  port  were  being  strengthened,  relieving  the  anx- 
iety felt  of  another  swoop  from  Frontenac.  General 
Brown  was  anxious  for  a  decisive  movement  against 
that  Canadian  port  this  fall,  together  with  other 
towns  in  its  vicinity,  but  in  the  interest  of  military 
precedence,  Brigadier  General  Richard  Dodge  had 
superseded  Brown  at  the  Harbor  in  September.  Gen- 
eral Brown  had  been  ordered  to  Ogdensburgh  to 
take  charge  of  the  defenses  there.  He  had  gone 
straightway  and  shortly  afterward  repulsed  a  deter- 
mined attack  of  the  enemy  upon  that  port. 

General  Dodge  retained  some  companies  of  militia 
at  the  Harbor,  among  them  John's  and  my  own. 
They  were  small,  neither  possessing  the  full  quota  of 
men.  Such  was  the  elasticity  of  existing  militia 
regulations  that  when  one  of  us  happened  to  be  de- 
tailed for  special  duty  elsewhere,  as  often  happened, 
the  other  took  command  of  both  attenuated  bodies. 
Neither  of  us  fared  sumptuously  in  subordinates. 


1 86    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

What  rank  and  file  we  had  was  composed  of  sturdy 
material.  As  for  the  under  officers,  there  were  but 
two  worthy  the  name.  John's  Naodiah  shone  above 
his  fellows  with  a  superiority  as  pronounced  as  that, 
relatively,  of  my  Cyrenus.  Diametrically  diverse  as 
they  were,  each  had  in  him  the  stuff  of  the  real 
soldier. 

The  only  engagement  we  had  enjoyed  since  the 
breaking  of  that  historic  Sabbath  by  the  British  had 
been  late  in  September.  The  defending  force  at  the 
Harbor  was  then  discouragingly  light  and  a  second 
descent  from  Frontenac  was  feared.  With  his  usual 
shrewdness,  General  Brown,  who  had  not  yet  been 
replaced  by  General  Dodge,  hit  upon  this  disquieting 
moment  for  a  demonstration  which  should  result  in 
the  acquisition  of  some  needed  stores  and  effectually 
alarming  the  enemy  for  his  own  safety.  So,  to  this 
end,  he  fitted  out  a  secret  expedition,  under  Cap- 
tain Forsyth, — he  had  no  colonels  to  spare, — against 
Gananoqui,  a  small  British  post  twenty  miles  below 
Frontenac,  on  the  St.  Lawrence.  John  and  I,  with  a 
portion  of  our  commands,  went  along,  a  sprinkling 
of  men  being  left  to  man  the  garrison.  The  move- 
ment proved  a  satisfying  success.  Moving  quietly 
down  the  river  from  Port  Putnam  in  the  night,  we 
gained  the  Canadian  channel  and  landed  two  miles 
above  the  town  in  the  open  day.  Dispersing  a  hand- 
ful of  horsemen  and  a  detachment  of  indifferent 
militia,  we  marched  in  meagre  triumph  to  the  vil- 
lage, rifled  the  king's  stores  and  returned  unscathed. 
Only  an  appetizer,  as  John  had  remarked,  and  we 
had  had  nothing  since. 

An  incident  occurred  during  this  opera  bouffe  affair 
which  raised  John  still  higher  in  the  estimation  of 
those  at  the  post  who  loved  to  retail  the  tradi- 


GRAY  WREATHING  MISTS  187 

tions  of  his  great  strength.  Cyrenus,  who  accom- 
panied us  in  this  sortie,  upon  seeing  the  force  drawn 
up  to  intercept  us,  had  in  his  eagerness  run  ahead 
like  a  terrier  in  advance  of  the  rest.  In  a  moment 
he  was  swallowed  up  in  a  brawny  mess  of  opposing 
militia.  It  bade  fair  to  go  hard  with  the  little  man, 
and  I  ran  forward  as  the  firing  began.  But  John 
pressed  ahead,  preceding  me  to  the  rescue.  There 
were  three  of  them  sitting  upon  the  swearing  Cy- 
renus and  one  was  in  the  act  of  presenting  a  loaded 
pistol  at  his  head  when  John  arrived.  The  giant 
knocked  the  weapon  from  the  fellow's  hand,  and, 
seizing  him  and  the  man  next  him  by  the  scruffs  of 
their  necks,  he  tore  them  from  Bantwell's  writhing 
body  and  crashed  their  heads  together.  They  fell. 
The  third  man  levelled  his  rifle  and  tried  to  shoot 
John,  but  I  was  there  by  then  and  wrenched  the  gun 
from  him.  John  seized  him,  and,  sinking  on  one 
knee,  he  doubled  the  Canadian,  who  was  a  brawny 
wight,  over  the  other  as  if  he  had  been  a  sack  of 
meal.  Then,  drawing  his  short  sword,  he  belabored 
the  enemy's  trousers  with  the  flat  of  it  until  he 
howled  for  mercy.  Upon  being  released,  the  man 
ran  to  his  fellows,  who  were  slowly  backing  as  they 
fired.  Then  John  turned  to  Cyrenus. 

"You  confounded  little  whiffet,"  he  growled,  "don't 
get  ahead  of  the  procession  next  time!"  Cyrenus 
grinned,  and  told  the  story  till  he  died. 

We  had  seen  no  active  service  since  this  small  skir- 
mish, which  was  modest  enough.  We  had  been  busy 
enough,  however,  especially  since  the  arrival  of  Com- 
modore Chauncey,  in  preparing  for  another  possible 
call  from  the  enemy.  We  knew  that  Sir  George  Pro- 
vost had  forces  far  superior  in  numbers  to  our  own 
at  Frontenac,  Prescott  and  other  convenient  towns, 


1 88    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

Frontenac  possessing  the  most  formidable  resources. 
He  also  had  troops  in  plenty  at  the  head  of  the  lake. 
We  marvelled  that  he  did  not  come  to  annihilate  us. 
But  as  he  deferred  his  visit,  we  improved  our  time. 

John  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  impatiently. 
Lost  in  a  reverie,  I  was  gazing  out  upon  the  lake 
that  stirred  with  the  fanning  of  the  wind. 

"Gilbert,"  burst  out  John  testily,  "is  winter  to 
come  without  the  semblance  of  a  blow  being  struck  ? 
I'm  tired  of  this  old  woman's  game." 

"So  say  we  all,  John,"  I  rejoined,  "but  what's  the 
use?  Come  back  to  the  barracks." 

We  left  the  bluff,  sauntering  slowly  toward  the 
town.  He  swung  along  with  a  free,  splendid  grace, 
his  black,  luxuriant  beard  and  piercing  eyes  giving 
him  the  air  of  a  buff  and  blue  brigand.  H;s  swarthy 
face  was  tanned  the  darker  with  exposure;  in  be- 
holding him,  one  derived  the  impression  of  vast 
strength,  measureless  and  terrible.  There  was  that 
in  his  appearance,  too,  that  rendered  his  English 
name  strangely  incongruous.  His  face  suggested  the 
Latin  races,  and,  though  his  actions  were  marked 
with  a  thorough  steadiness  and  a  certain  calm, 
quiet  shrewdness,  I  had  often  caught  glimpses  of  a 
fiery,  impetuous  spirit  behind  the  cool,  reserved  ex- 
terior. Knit  together  as  we  were  in  the  bonds  of  our 
strange  friendship,  he  was  still  an  unsolved  puzzle 
to  me.  I  knew  but  little  more  of  him  than  what 
tradition  had  told  before  I  met  him.  I  had  informed 
him  of  my  encounter  with  the  eccentric  miser  in  the 
Canadian  forest  and  of  the  old  man's  account  of 
his  extremity  and  rescue.  He  smiled  slightly,  ac- 
knowledged that  he  was  Pitou's  deliver  and  said 
no  more. 

Musing  upon  the  strange,  baffling  personality  of 


GRAY  WREATHING  MISTS  189 

my  companion,  I  walked  with  him  in  silence  to  the 
quarters.  There  a  surprise  awaited  me.  An  odd 
gray  nag,  a  nag"  of  years  and  unquestionable  re- 
spectability, stood  saddled  and  bridled  at  my  door. 
I  would  know  the  animal  anywhere.  It  was  Abner 
Holcomb's. 

As  I  gazed  speculatively  at  the  beast  a  listless 
footstep  shuffled  and  Abner  stood  in  the  doorway 
of  the  quarters,  regarding  me  with  sepulchral  so- 
lemnity. Woe  illimitable  brooded  in  his  faded  eyes; 
dejection  rioted  among  his  drooping  whiskers.  His 
voice  was  dreary  as  an  owl's  hoot  at  midnight. 

"  Betsey'll  run  the  farm,"  he  announced. 

I  made  to  look  as  if  I  considered  it  a  new  arrange- 
ment. "  It's  a  great  sacrifice  for  you,  Abner,"  I 
murmured  hypocritically. 

He  gloomed  with  tobacco  munching  jaws.  I 
watched  them  fascinated.  Did  he  champ  in  his  sleep? 
At  last  he  answered. 

"  It  is  that,"  he  agreed.  "  But  you're  needin'  men. 
Betsey,  she  kep'  at  me.  And  here  I  be."  His  sombre 
eyes,  diverted  from  space,  ranged  upward  till  at  last 
they  rested  on  John's  amused  face.  "Who's  yer 
pardner?"  he  inquired  drearily. 

I  introduced  them,  John  grasping  a  listless  hand. 
Abner  still  continued  his  survey,  his  expression,  as 
always,  like  a  mournful  somnambulist's. 

"I  suppose  you  want  to  enlist  now?"  I  said. 

"Yuh,"  he  answered,  without  the  faintest  thrill  of 
martial  spirit  in  his  tone,  "  in  your  company.  Betsey, 
she  sid  to  look  you  up." 

I  led  him,  this  bewhiskered  lamb,  to  the  slaughter, 
and  the  deed  was  done.  Betsey  the  persistent, 
Betsey  the  indomitable,  had  conquered.  In  spite 
of  rheumatism  and  responsibilities  Abner  and  the 


i9o  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

farm  had  parted  company.    It  was  a  final    crushing 
proof  that  Betsey  was  able  to  run  both. 

I  left  Abner,  munching  in  sorrow,  in  the  ruthless 
hands  of  Sergeant  Cyrenus,  who  had  pounced  upon 
him,  as  he  always  did  with  raw  recruits,  with  ghoul- 
ish glee,  reckoning  him  as  appreciated  prey  to  be 
licked  into  shape.  Then  I  returned  to  the  quarters. 

"Well,  upon  my  soul,"  laughed  John,  "if  you 
don't  land  some  curiosities  in  the  shape  of  recruits. 
First  Cyrenus,  and  now ' 

"  Meanwhile,"  I  reminded  him,  with  leering  triumph, 
"you  have  Noadiah." 

He  properly  subsided.  "True,"  he  murmured. 
"How  could  I  have  forgotten  Noadiah?" 

We  busied  ourselves  about  the  barracks  awhile,  but 
time  dragged  for  me.  Looking  restlessly  about  my 
eyes  noted  the  dockyards.  Ships  were  being  over- 
hauled and  canvas  stretched. 

"When  does  Chauncey  propose  to  sail?"  I  asked 
with  lowered  voice. 

"  To-morrow,"  replied  John.  "  He  will  sail  out  and 
see  if  he  can  run  across  any  of  Yeo's  boats.  I  hope 
we  will  have  a  chance  to  go.  I  am  not  conversant 
with  the  plans,  but  they  may  want  to  land  a  force 
somewhere." 

"God  grant  it,"  I  commented,  watching  the  prep- 
arations. "  I  think  I  will  take  a  small  cruise  myself, 
just  out  to  Snake  Island,"  I  added  suddenly.  "  Want 
to  come  along?" 

"  No,"  he  answered,  again  fishing  out  the  inevitable 
pipe,  "I've  some  work  to  do.  If  you  run  across 
Yeo's  fleet,  bring  it  back  with  you." 

I  left  the  barracks  for  the  docks.  My  own  boat, 
a  small  affair  that  slipped  through  the  water  as  if 
greased,  was  close  at  hand.  I  had  her  ready  in  short 


GRAY  WREATHING  MISTS  191 

order.  Gliding  out  around  the  point  into  the  bay,  I 
skimmed  on  with  a  favoring  wind.  The  waves  were 
rising  as  the  breeze  had  grown  stronger.  The  lake 
was  flecked  with  tiny  whitecaps.  I  flew  on,  past 
Snake  Island,  determining  to  keep  on  to  Stony,  a 
larger  patch  several  miles  out  from  the  town,  where 
I  might  glimpse  the  enemy's  fleet.  There  would 
be  ample  time  to  return  before  nightfall,  and 
if  not,  I  knew  the  lake  like  a  book.  I  needed  only 
the  lights  of  the  Harbor  in  case  of  a  shifting  wind 
and  consequent  delay.  It  was  an  ideal  day  for  sail- 
ing. My  spirits  rose  as  I  sped  on  through  the  sliding 
waves. 

The  boat  rushed  on,  sail  taut  in  the  long,  low 
sweep  of  the  wind,  diving  and  skimming,  riding  the 
hissing,  pounding  surge  like  a  swallow.  With  oc- 
casional short  tacks  it  took  but  a  brief  time  to 
reach  the  island.  I  anchored  in  a  deep  place  close  to 
shore,  and  lowering  the  sail,  jumped  to  a  projecting 
point  of  land  and  walked  across,  scanning  the  vast 
expanse  of  the  rolling,  open  lake.  A  flash  of  sun- 
light broke  through  the  gray  vault  overhead,  glinting 
the  sail  of  a  distant  small  vessel.  Nothing  of  Yeo's 
squadron  was,  however,  to  be  seen.  A  moment  more 
and  the  sombre  curtain  closed  again.  The  transitory 
flash  was  gone. 

I  threw  myself  down  with  my  back  against  a  tree 
trunk  and  became  lost  in  a  wistful  reverie,  my  gaze 
bent  to  the  northward.  My  eyes  beheld  but  the 
tossing  waters,  sullen  beneath  the  shadow  of  the 
cheerless  sky.  Nothing  of  life  was  in  sight  except  a 
few  birds  wheeling  across  the  heaving  swells,  and  far 
out,  a  splotch  of  white  in  the  gray,  a  solitary  sail, 
moving  to  the  west.  The  wind  was  dying  now. 
The  wash  of  the  surf  on  the  stone-strewn  beach 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

sounded  in  my  ears,  rhythmically  interminable.  The 
low  monotone  of  the  wind  grew  fainter,  a  lulling 
calm  stealing  over  me,  for  I  was  fatigued  with  the 
arduous  work  of  the  past  days.  I  had  but  to  close 
my  eyes  and  it  was  another  autumn.  The  woods 
loomed,  many-hued  and  fragrant.  I  trod  a  path 
that  wound  serpent-like  through  the  dim  reaches; 
over  mossy  logs,  green  and  cool  in  their  decay; 
walking  upon  a  carpet  of  the  fallen  glory  of  the 
turning  leaves.  Through  the  balsamed  stretches  of 
the  forest  a  voice  echoed,  silvery  sweet,  for  she  walked 
before  me,  rifle  resting  in  the  hollow  of  a  rounded 
arm;  straight  and  supple,  altogether  lovely.  At 
times  the  piquant  charm  of  a  bewitching  half-pro- 
file was  vouchsafed  me;  an  alluring  challenge  shot 
back  at  me  from  the  corner  of  a  clear  eye,  blue- 
green,  like  the  sea;  her  laughter  bubbled  like  a  spring. 
Still  we  walked  on,  over  the  dead  leaves  and  crum- 
bling logs,  through  a  labyrinth  of  tinted  foliage. 
Now  the  brawl  of  the  little  river, — snarling  among 
its  tiny  eddies,  dashing  impotently  against  the  great 
grim  rocks  that  were  drenched  with  spray, — sounded 
close  at  hand.  We  emerged  at  the  little  clearing  and 
I  threw  myself  upon  the  bank.  Her  strange  call 
sounded  and  the  pigeons  came  to  her,  flying  to  be 
fed.  Even  as  I  watched,  they  floated  about  and 
over  her  till  I  could  no  longer  see  her,  could  only 
hear  her  rippling  laughter  in  the  midst  of  the  white 
feathered  cloud  which  grew  and  grew  till  it  seemed 
to  have  spread  across  the  face  of  the  sky  and  ob- 
scured the  sunlight.  It  grew  cold  and  dark,  but  still 
the  cloud  widened,  ceaselessly  billowing,  floating 
heavily  between  earth  and  sky.  I  scrambled  to  my 
feet  with  a  cry  of  fear  and  dilated  eyes. 
Strange  gray  shapes  wreathed  about  me,  dim  and 


GRAY  WREATHING  MISTS  193 

ghostly;  the  wash  of  the  surf  sounded  monoto- 
nously near  me,  but  I  could  not  see  it;  the  air  was 
damp  and  chill.  A  moment  served  to  collect  my 
scattered  senses  and  I  laughed,  a  trifle  grimly. 

"  If  one  will  nap  here  in  November,  one  must  take 
the  consequences,"  I  muttered.  While  I  had  slept 
there  had  come  a  heavy  fog,  common  on  the  lakes, 
so  dense  that  it  was  like  an  impenetrable  gray  wall. 
The  chill  had  finally  awakened  me. 

Cursing  my  inopportune  napping,  I  slapped  my 
stiffened  legs,  and,  swinging  my  numbed  arms  to 
restore  circulation,  I  stumbled  across  the  island  to 
the  opposite  shore  to  reach  my  boat,  meaning  to 
go  aboard  and  get  into  a  greatcoat  which  I  had 
there  and  wait  for  the  fog  to  lift. 

I  knew  my  route  and  it  was  not  a  difficult  task  to 
find  the  place  where  I  had  moored  the  boat,  as  it  was 
just  inside  a  small  point  of  projecting  land.  Groping 
in  the  mist,  I  found  the  point,  made  my  way  out 
upon  it  and  leaped  for  the  boat. 

I  came  down  in  about  ten  feet  of  cold  water,  reach- 
ing the  surface  dazed  and  gasping.  Regaining  the 
land,  I  fell  to  shivering  and  cursing  myself  anew,  for 
it  was  plain  that  there  was  no  boat  there.  It  had 
not  been  properly  secured  and  had  drifted  away. 

Some  moments  I  expended  in  shaking  and  reflecting 
dismally  upon  my  dilemma.  But  now,  through  good 
fortune,  the  vagrant  breezes  were  returning  To  my 
great  satisfaction  I  saw  the  fog  dispersing,  sullen  and 
distorted. 

Presently,  through  the  wreathing  vapor,  I  made 
out,  at  convenient  distance  from  the  shore,  a  vague, 
drifting  shape.  My  boat  had  evidently  not  gone  far. 
Without  more  ado  I  plunged  in. 

The  icy  water  chilled  me  to  the  marrow  and  I  swam 


i94  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

vigorously.  Presently  I  reached  the  craft,  and, 
laying  hold  of  the  side,  made  to  draw  myself  up.  The 
boat  tipped  violently.  In  that  instant  a  shadowy 
shape  loomed  over  me,  brawny  hands  seizing  me 
by  the  collar.  A  moment  more  and  I  was  hauled, 
like  a  meal  sack,  over  the  side  and  dumped,  half 
strangled,  into  the  bottom  of  a  strange  boat.  A 
lantern  was  thrust  into  my  face,  my  eyes  blinking 
in  the  glare.  A  voice  sounded,  round  with  surprise. 

"Well,  I'm  blowed   if  it  isn't   Lieutenant   Strana- 
han!"  it  said. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
In  Frontenac 

I  recognized  him,  though  his  face  showed  indis- 
tinct in  the  gray,  rolling  fog,  in  which  the  lantern's 
glimmer  glowed  palely.  He  was  the  man  who  had 
served  as  my  second  in  the  difference  with  the  cow- 
ardly British  ruffian,  Chichester. 

"This  is  something  of  a  surprise,  Lieutenant  Carew," 
I  remarked,  summoning  my  wits  to  meet  this  emer- 
gency. "It  is  curious  that  you  and  I  should  be  en- 
gaged simultaneously  in  similar  missions." 

This  was  a  chance  hazard,  but  I  had  come  to  the 
instantaneous  conclusion  that  Carew  and  the  man 
with  him  had  been  in  quest  of  secret  information  on 
our  side.  To  betray  any  hesitation  would  assuredly 
not  do.  I  was  in  a  bad  box  and  must  produce  the 
impression  that  I  was  in  the  business  of  the  man 
I  was  supposed  to  be. 

"Don't  you  recognize  Lieutenant  Beresford,  Strana- 
han?"  asked  Carew,  "though  of  course  it  is  so  dark 
that  you  naturally  would  not,  separated  as  you  are. 
We're  all  together  in  this  business,  for  our  necks 
run  similar  risks." 

"True,"  I  muttered,  though  I  felt  at  the  moment 
that  my  own  ran  a  far  greater  one  than  their's  just 
now,  had  they  but  known  it. 

Here  was  an  added  difficulty.  I  found  myself  greet- 
ing a  friend  of  Carew' s,  a  young  fellow  I  had  met  in 


196  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

Frontenac.  With  two  such  acquaintances  it  would 
pay  to  be  doubly  diplomatic. 

"How  curious  you  should  fall  in  with  us,  quite 
literally,  too,  in  just  this  way,  Stranahan,"  remarked 
Beresford,  with  lively  curiosity.  "Did  you  swim  after 
us  from  the  Harbor?  And  I  thought  you  were  at 
Oswego." 

"Just  came  from  there,"  I  answered  lightly,  "and 
as  for  the  swim,  well,  no.  The  water  is  somewhat  too 
cold.  The  truth  is  I  am  here  through  my  own  care- 
lessness," and  I  went  on  to  explain  that  I  had  stop- 
ped at  the  island,  just  as  the  fog  closed  down,  to 
wait  for  its  lifting  and  had  improperly  secured  the 
boat.  "The  craft  belongs  to  a  young  Yankee  officer. 
I  secured  it  this  afternoon,"  I  told  them  with  perfect 
truth.  "This  cursed  fog  settled  when  I  was  within  a 
couple  of  miles  of  the  island  yonder.  I  did  not  care 
to  be  out  in  it,  so  made  for  the  land.  I  must  either 
have  anchored  her  insecurely  or  the  rope  parted.  As 
it  is,  she  is  drifting  somewhere  out  yonder,  while  she 
ought  to  be  in  readiness  to  start  for  Frontenac  as 
soon  as  the  fog  lifts.  I  thought  it  was  she  when 
I  was  drawn  into  yours." 

"Don't  let  it  worry  you,  Stranahan,"  said  Carew, 
with  reassurance  unconsciously  ironical.  "You  can 
go  to  Frontenac  with  us,  since  we  are  returning 
there." 

So  this  was  the  trick  Fate  had  played  me !  I  was 
glad  the  mists  obscured  my  face,  which  must  have 
looked  dubious  enough.  But  I  gave  vent  to  an  ex- 
clamation of  satisfaction. 

The  boat  was  moving  slowly  forward  through  the 
ghostly  vapor.  "If  I  thought  this  would  not  lift  be- 
fore long,"  observed  Carew,  who  was  at  the  tiller,  "I 
would  put  in  for  the  island  myself.  But  I  think  it 


IN  FRONTENAC  197 

will  soon  be  gone,  for  the  wind  is  rising."  Sure 
enough,  the  water  of  the  lake  was  rippling ;  the  gray 
masses  stirred  uneasily  around  us.  It  grew  lighter; 
presently  a  gust  of  air  filled  the  sail. 

"It  is  strange  we  have  not  run  across  each  other," 
I  hazarded,  "though  to  be  sure,  I  have  been  every- 
where from  Oswego  to  Ogdensburgh  in  the  past  two 
months,  reporting  at  odd  times  to  Montreal.  I  final- 
ly made  this  last  trip  to  the  Harbor,  coming  from 
Oswego  in  the  guise  of  a  militia  officer.  I  have  been 
here  a  couple  of  days.  You  must  have  started  for  , 
home  this  afternoon  soon  after  I  did." 

"An  hour  or  two  later,  I  should  judge,"  answered 
Carew.  "It  was  pretty  misty  when  we  started,  but 
we  feared  that  suspicion  was  attaching  itself  to  us 
and  considered  home  as  better  than  the  possibility  of 
stretched  necks.  We  arrived  from  Watertown  just 
a  little  while  ago.  We  had  been  hastily  looking  over 
the  ground  there.  It's  a  flying  trip  for  the  immediate 
benefit  of  the  authorities  at  Frontenac.  These  fellows 
are  better  prepared  than  formerly.  As  for  returning, 
we  saw  old  Miles  Osgood  below  the  Harbor.  He, 
as  you  know,  is  always  ready  with  a  boat  and 
timely  aid  for  those  in  our  line,  provided  he  receives  a 
proper  financial  consideration." 

I  had  not  positively  known  it,  but  registered  a 
mental  mark  against  Miles,  whom  I  had  previously 
suspected  of  being  a  snivelling  old  hypocrite  and  all 
things  to  all  men.  We  would  deal  with  him  later. 

"They  are  better  prepared,  as  you  say,"  I  said, 
"but  I  think  we  can  make  short  work  of  them." 

"I  think  we  stand  a  fair  chance  of  doing  so,"  he 
answered,  "when  we  attempt  it  over  the  ice  this 
winter." 

Here  was  something  worth  remembering.    Perhaps, 


on  the  whole,  a  trip  to  Frontenac  just  now  might 
benefit  our  cause,  and  anyway,  I  had  no  choice. 
The  wind  was  now  blowing  quite  hard  and  from  a 
favoring  quarter,  the  boat  skimming  swiftly  ahead. 
Stony  Island  was  far  behind  us  and  we  were  ap- 
proaching Canadian  waters  with  accelerated  speed. 
The  fog  had  nearly  vanished.  It  was  deep  dusk 
and  already  a  few  pale  stars  glimmered  in  a  sky 
blown  nearly  clear  of  clouds.  My  nap  had  evidently 
lasted  some  time.  I  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  the 
situation. 

A  sudden  reflection  filled  me  with  swift  satisfaction. 
Through  a  strange  circumstance  I  was  afloat  for 
Frontenac.  Well  and  good.  Renee  was  in  Frontenac. 
I  would  see  her;  my  pulse  stirred  at  the  thought. 
Perhaps  her  father  was  recovered  and  they  awaited 
opportunity  to  reach  the  shores  where  lay  their 
sympathies.  If  so,  I  might  be  able  to  assist  them. 
Were  they  now  able  to  come,  I  felt  that  I  possessed 
resource  sufficient  to  find  a  way  to  bring  them.  My 
previous  visit,  together  with  the  general  acceptance 
in  Frontenac's  military  circles  of  myself  as  Lieutenant 
Stranahan,  had  given  me  confidence.  What  I  had 
done  I  could  do  again,  especially  as  my  appearance 
in  the  boat  admitted  of  so  reasonable  an  explanation. 
Carew,  I  know,  never  dreamed  of  doubting  me,  and  I 
was  confident  also  of  Beresford's  lack  of  suspicion. 

I  was  at  no  small  advantage  in  revisiting  Fron- 
tenac in  that  my  real  headquarters,  as  Stranahan, 
were  at  Montreal.  Stranahan's  mission  had  been  of 
a  delicate  nature.  He  had  come  to  grief  at  the  very 
first,  though  his  friends  had  not  learned  of  it,  and,  I 
hoped,  never  would  while  I  was  on  that  side  of  the 
water.  During  the  lengthy  period  that  I  simulated 
him  I  crossed  boldly  to  Frontenac,  Gananoque,  Pres- 


IN  FRONTENAC  199 

cott  and  other  towns  conferring  with  sundry  officers 
and  sending  messages  from  these  points  to  Montreal, 
messages  that  were  sufficiently  near  to  the  truth  to 
avoid  unpleasant  complications  that  would  threaten 
my  personal  safety  and  lead  to  the  discovery  of  the 
hoax,  but  messages,  nevertheless,  that  never  materi- 
ally harmed  our  cause.  While  I  was  on  the  other 
side  I  naturally  gleaned  information  at  first  hand 
that  was  of  the  most  valuable  nature  to  us,  though 
I  had  some  exciting  experiences  in  doing  it,  and, 
more  than  once,  feared  that  the  grim  game  was  up. 

Sometimes,  by  arrangement  with  Montreal,  the 
simulated  Stranahan  would  despatch  his  matter 
from  our  own  ports.  The  details  of  this  cunningly 
arranged  plan  I  had  learned  on  capturing  Strana- 
han and  communicated  them  to  General  Brown.  It 
was  then  that  my  continued  double  identity  was 
decided  upon.  General  Brown  was  more  cordial  in 
his  expressions  of  appreciation  of  my  willingness  to 
keep  up  the  illusion  than  I  thought  I  deserved,  for  it 
was  only  my  duty.  But  he  paid  me  the  compliment 
to  maintain  that  he  could  summon  but  few  men  of 
like  nerve  to  aid  him,  and  I  will  say  that  he  hesi- 
tated considerably  before  giving  his  consent  to  the 
project,  for  it  was  originally  my  own  proposal.  I 
doubt  if  a  gentleman  ever  played  the  spy  under  more 
peculiar  circumstances  than  those  which  fell  to  me. 

Naturally  a  clever  penman,  I  had  mastered  Strana- 
han's  chirography,  having  plenty  of  specimens  in  my 
possession  from  which  to  copy.  It  was  a  very  fair 
forgery,  which  fact  is  attested  by  the  additional  one 
that  it  was  never  detected.  The  messengers  of  whom 
I  have  spoken  would  enter  our  ports  with  an  exag- 
gerated caution  which  was  superfluous,  had  they 
but  known  it,  for  their  coming  was  invariably  known 


200  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

and  they  were  allowed  to  reach  me  without  moles- 
tation. However,  the  illusion  of  danger  was  always 
maintained,  and  I  occasionally  arranged  a  little 
diversion  in  the  way  of  a  hairbreadth  escape  from 
apprehension  that  merely  quickened  the  blood  of  the 
messenger,  while  it  did  me  good  rather  than  harm, 
for  he  carried  back  tales  of  the  dangers  that  infested 
my  pathway  and  the  skill  with  which  I  avoided  them. 
A  joke  of  the  matter  was  that  it  was  known  in  Can- 
ada that  I  had  joined  the  Yankee  army  and  had 
secured  the  rank  of  captain  under  a  supposedly  as- 
sumed name.  I  had  explained  at  the  very  first  that 
I  would  be  better  able  to  care  for  England's  inter- 
ests by  taking  this  course,  and  represented  that  I 
had  joined  the  militia  as  a  lieutenant,  after  the  at- 
tack on  Sackets  Harbor,  it  being  understood  that 
I  was  from  Albany,  and  had  soon  been  made  a  cap- 
tain. I  represented,  too,  that  I  had  contrived  to  be 
sent  hither  and  yon  on  missions  that  gave  me  a 
free  rein  to  advance  the  interests  of  the  British  cause. 
The  impression  which  they  entertained  of  my  standing 
did  me  untold  good.  I  might  change  from  place  to 
place;  I  might  appear  against  them  in  battle,  if 
necessary,  and  they  would  think  it  done  for  policy's 
sake.  It  was  a  bold  game,  but  thanks  to  the 
strange  circumstances,  it  was  for  a  long  time  compar- 
atively easy. 

I  met  the  messengers  during  that  war  at  all  of  our 
ports  from  Oswego  to  Ogdensburgh,  at  different 
times,  and  at  many  of  their  own.  Once  I  had  the 
hardihood  to  meet,  by  appointment  and  under  orders 
from  Montreal,  a  council  of  officers  at  Prescott,  at 
which  I  flatter  myself  I  was  the  means  of  staving  off, 
through  a  convenient  magnifying  of  our  resources, 
present  and  anticipated,  a  threatened  attack  upon 


IN  FRONTENAC  201 

us  until  we  could  the  better  prepare  for  it.  As  I  look 
back  upon  those  experiences  I  wonder  that  Nemesis 
did  not  overtake  me  long  before  she  did. 

So,  to  revert,  it  was  with  a  fairly  easy  spirit  that 
I  considered  the  prospect  of  this  involuntary  return 
to  Frontenac.  We  skimmed  along  at  high  speed. 
The  sky  had  entirely  cleared  and  a  crescent  moon 
gleamed  among  the  studded  stars. 

The  air  had  a  wintry  chill  and  I  shivered  in  my 
wet  clothing.  Carew  proffered  me  a  greatcoat.  Beres- 
ford  offered  a  flask.  I  took  both  and  was  comforted. 

Carew  was  an  excellent  sailor  and  evidently  knew 
the  lake.  As  we  flew  along  he  and  Beresford,  both 
of  whom  wore  the  uniforms  of  Yankee  militiamen, 
recounted  their  experiences  on  our  side  and  I  sup- 
plemented them  with  some  imaginary  ones.  I  gave 
them  some  valuable  misinformation  about  matters 
of  which  I  well  knew  they  had  not  learned  enough 
themselves  to  dispute  me,  and  they,  in  their  turn, 
let  fall  some  comment  about  matters  at  Frontenac 
which  I  mentally  recorded  for  future  reference. 

I  was  helped  materially  by  the  fact  that  they  did 
not  know  Stranahan  personally.  I  did  not  particu- 
larly wish  to  encounter  an  acquaintance  of  his.  How- 
ever, there  was  small  danger  of  this  if  I  succeeded 
in  keeping  away  from  Montreal,  for  it  will  be  recalled 
that  the  unfortunate  officer  had  arrived  from  England 
only  a  few  days  before  receiving  the  commission 
which  resulted  in  his  undoing. 

We  made  good  time,  and  the  fifty  miles  from  the 
Harbor  to  Frontenac  were  negotiated  by  one  of  the 
morning.  Gliding  into  the  harbor,  we  secured  the 
boat  and  walked  from  the  dock  up  the  quiet  street 
to  the  King's  Inn,  where  both  my  companions  put 
up.  The  weasel  faced  host  responded  in  person  to 


202  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

our  summons.  He  eyed  me  with  disfavor  for  a 
moment.  Suddenly  remembering,  I  paid  him  the 
reckoning  for  my  former  visit,  when  I  had  left  un- 
ceremoniously without  taking  time  for  that  formality. 

"It  is  Yankee  coin,"  I  said,  with  a  wink  at  him 
and  my  two  companions,  "  but  that  is  what  we  have 
been  using  lately."  He  nodded  comprehensively  and 
became  urbane.  Ambling  amiably  ahead,  he  assigned 
me  a  room.  Before  retiring  I  had  a  word  with  Carew. 

"When  leaving  Montreal,  I  was  of  course  obliged 
to  leave  the  incriminating  red  behind,"  I  observed 
with  a  laugh.  "Can  you  have  me  fitted  out  in  the 
good  old  regimentals  in  the  morning?" 

"  Surely,"  he  replied.    "  We  will  attend  to  it." 

I  had  reflected  that  by  getting  again  into  the 
British  uniform  less  attention  would  be  attracted  to 
me  and  the  chances  of  maintaining  the  hoax  would 
be  improved.  So,  when  we  had  breakfasted  together, 
Carew  took  me  to  the  custodians  of  the  stores  and 
I  was  clothed,  having  my  own  damp  uniform  dried 
before  being  wrapped  up  for  future  reference,  as  I 
observed,  with  a  deeper  significance  than  Carew  knew. 

I  spent  the  morning  in  carelessly  strolling  about, 
absorbing  information.  The  military  force  had  been 
strengthened  and  more  accessions  to  Yeo's  fleet  were 
in  building.  I  met  many  of  my  former  acquaintances, 
but  did  not  come  across  Chichester,  which  gave  me 
satisfaction.  I  understood  from  a  disgusted  officer, 
however,  that  he  was  lying  drunk  at  his  quarters, 
the  effect  of  an  orgy  the  night  previous.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  general  satisfaction  over  the  drub- 
bing I  had  given  him  and  I  found  my  popularity 
increased  by  it. 

Dinner  done,  I  was  idling  about  the  docks,  after 
conversing  with  a  knot  of  officers  who  had  just 


IN  FRONTENAC  203 

strolled  away.  Suddenly  glancing  around,  I  saw  a 
man  approaching.  Without  ostentation  I  slipped 
around  a  lumber  pile. 

He  had  not  noticed  me,  .but  walked  slowly  down 
to  the  dock,  where  he  stood  gazing  out  upon  the 
green  flood.  My  fingers  itched  to  gripe  his  wicked 
neck,  bull-like,  sprinkled  with  coarse,  red  hairs.  His 
mottled,  brutal  face,  covered  with  a  wiry  red  beard, 
was  the  embodiment  of  sodden  brutality.  His  burly 
body  was  clothed  in  a  nondescript  dirty  uniform. 
His  big,  coarse  hands  were  clasped  behind  his  back. 
A  while  he  remained,  gazing  out  upon  the  lake,  then 
reflectively  spat  into  the  sullied  water.  A  moment 
later  he  turned,  retracing  his  steps  to  the  town, 
limping  slightly. 

I  clenched  my  fists  as  I  saw  him  go.  "At  the 
proper  time  and  place,  Red  Rolfe,  or  whoever  you 
are!"  I  muttered.  "Satan  will  forget  to  guard  you 
some  day,  and  then ' 

Toward  evening  I  strolled  away  from  the  town  in 
the  direction  of  the  little  house  on  the  outskirts  where 
I  expected  to  find  Renee  and  her  father.  As  I  walked 
up  the  straggling  street,  nearing  the  spot  which  held 
all  of  life  for  me,  my  breath  came  fast  and  the  blood 
buzzed  in  my  head.  I  was  to  see  her  again !  And 
yet,  at  the  moment,  a  sickening  doubt  intruded.  I 
had  heard  nothing.  What,  after  all,  if  I  should  find 
them  through  some  mischance  gone?  My  heart  grew 
leaden  and  my  steps  likewise.  The  sun,  low  in  the 
west,  took  on  a  tinge  of  red ;  the  air  was  crisp  with 
an  added  coolness. 

I  approached  the  house,  my  heart  thumping  noisily, 
a  tentative  question  in  my  eyes.  A  cat  sat  in  state 
upon  the  gatepost,  a  black  cat  with  strange  eyes 
that  blinked  uncannily.  Her  tail  cleft  the  air  like  a 


204  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

belated  benediction.  As  I  approached  the  creature, 
she  bent  her  yellow  eyes  full  upon  me,  now  unchanging, 
unwinking  as  the  stony  gaze  of  the  sphinx.  A  mo- 
ment thus  she  gazed,  then  her  jaws  gaped  idiotically 
and  she  yawned  placidly  into  space.  The  tension 
was  broken.  I  laughed. 

"Bon  soir,  monsieur,"  sounded  a  sweet  voice  in 
greeting.  "  I  perceive  that  your  sense  of  the  ridicu- 
lous is  not  blunted  by  the  tooth  of  time." 

I  started.  There  she  stood,  a  vision  all  of  earth 
and  therefore  the  lovelier ;  the  red  gleam  of  the  dying 
day  in  her  gold-brown  hair;  the  rich  carmine  of 
young,  bounding  blood  in  her  round  cheeks;  all  the 
sweetness  of  her  in  the  eyes  that  blended  the  wonder- 
ful tints  of  the  sky  and  sea  beneath  a  royal  sun. 

"From  where  did  you  come?"  I  asked  her,  giddy 
with  a  glad  relief,  seizing  the  little  hands  that  were 
extended  in  greeting. 

"From  the  porch,  while  you  were  watching  the 
cat,"  she  responded  demurely. 

"I  will  kill  the  cat,"  I  observed,  and  cast  about 
for  a  missile.  The  animal  yawned  once  more  in 
supreme  content  and  I  desisted. 

"  That  is  right,"  commented  Renee,  nodding  sagely, 
"that  you  relent.  It  is  a  nice  cat.  Would  you  be- 
lieve it? — it  is  a  friend  to  Toti.  I  taught  it  so, 
m'sieur.  But  why  are  you  here,  Lieutenant — er — 
what  did  you  say  your  name  was?  Are  you  spying 
again  ?" 

"My  name,"  I  told  her  severely,  "is  still  largely 
Stranahan.  I  am  spying  a  little,  but  quite  accident- 
ally. Moreover,  I  have  come  for  you  and  your  father 
if  you  are  ready."  And  I  told  her  about  it. 

She  gazed  earnestly  into  my  eyes,  a  little  moisture 
in  her  own.  "We  will  return  with  you  if  it  can  be 


IN  FRONTENAC  205 

brought  about,"  she  said  simply.  "My  father  is 
quite  strong  again  and  his  desire  is  with  the  land  of 
his  adoption.  Our  benefactor  has  been  away  from 
Frontenac  for  some  time,  but  his  retainers,  with 
whom  we  have  made  our  home,  have  done  every- 
thing possible  for  us.  We  can  never  repay  them  for 
their  kindness,  and,  m'sieur,  how  much  less  can  we 
repay  you,  you  who  take  this  risk  for  our  sakes? 
It  hurts  me  when  I  think  of  how  my  father  and  I 
are  forced  to  impose  ourselves,  with  our  fallen  for- 
tunes, upon  others,"  and  her  lips  quivered. 

"Mam'selle,"  I  answered  with  mock  sternness,  a 
lump  rising  in  my  throat,  "  let  there  be  an  end  of 
this.  As  for  the  risk,  allow  me  to  remind  you  that 
I  could  not  help  myself.  As  for  the  imposition,  as 
you  term  it,  let  your  memory  whisper  to  you.  More- 
over, let  me  assure  you  that  you  will  be  kept  busy 
enough  at  Sackets  Harbor.  There  is  plenty  of  work 
for  women's  hands  there  in  the  advancement  of  the 
cause.  I'll  warrant  you'll  wish  you  were  back  in 
Frontenac.  But  in  the  meantime,  you  may  rest  as- 
sured of  a  warm  reception  at  the  hands  of  my  father 
and  sister,  who  already  love  you  for  the  poor  life 
you  saved." 

"Why,  m'sieur,"  she  faltered  in  confusion,  "surely 
we  cannot  think  of  coming  to  your  home.  We  had 
thought  we  would  find  a  little  place  somewhere " 

"Mam'selle!"  I  interrupted,  "no  more  of  this! 
Who  saved  my  worthless  life?  Who  brought  the 
color  back  to  my  bleached  face  with  tender  nursing  ? 
Besides,  our  house  is  a  headquarters  for  our  friends. 
John  is  there.  We  have  grown  inseparable." 

"That  is  good,"  she  said  simply,  "such  amitie. 
He  is  huge  and  magnificent.  Let  us  walk  around  to 
the  orchard.  My  father  is  there." 


20 6  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

We  found  M.  De  Montefort  seated  under  an  apple 
tree,  pulling  comfortably  at  a  long  pipe  and  reading 
a  newspaper.  With  no  restraining  Storrs  around  us, 
he  was  unaffectedly  glad  to  see  me.  I  told  him  of 
past  events,  of  my  involuntary  trip  to  Frontenac 
and  of  the  plan  I  had  formed.  He  warmly  acceded 
to  the  proposition  to  return,  but  I  encountered  oppo- 
sition when  I  spoke  of  their  coming  to  our  home. 

"I  cannot  do  that,  M'sieur  Warburton,"  he  said, the 
blood  mantling  his  fine  old  face.  "  As  it  is,  I  shall 
not  rest  until  I  have  succeeded  in  paying  these  good 
people  here  for  their  entertainment  of  us.  Ma  foi ! 
Renee  and  I  would  rather  take  our  chances  again  at 
the  little  cabin!" 

"Monsieur,"  I  replied,  "last  autumn,  when  I  lay 
torn  in  the  woods,  you  ministered  unto  me.  Your 
daughter  gallantly  saved  the  life  of  a  stranger,  and 
then  you  took  him  in,  nearly  breaking  your  back  to 
do  it.  You  both  nursed  him  back  to  health,  nor 
could  have  cared  more  tenderly  for  him  had  he  been 
a  brother  and  a  son.  Now,  I  beg  of  you,  let  me  and 
mine  show,  in  small  degree,  our  appreciation.  Be- 
sides, I  can  readily  promise  you  that  you  shall  be 
busy  there.  I  gather,  monsieur,  that  you  are  ac- 
quainted with  military  matters?" 

"  I  was  once,  in  France,"  he  returned,  with  a  wist- 
ful smile. 

"Then,"  I  rejoined  triumphantly,  "you  need  not 
worry  about  dependence,  as  you  choose  to  term  it. 
I  can  secure  you  all  you  will  want  to  do,  and,  as  for 
this  young  lady,  I  have  promised  her  the  oppor- 
tunity to  work  her  fair  fingers  to  talons,  if  she  elects 
to  be  so  foolish." 

They  both  laughed  and  I  saw  that  I  had  struck  the 
right  note.  Relieved  to  find  that  I  had  met  the 


IN  FRONTENAC  207 

difficult  task  of  dealing  with  these  two  sensitive 
natures,  I  grew  exuberant,  succeeding  in  imparting 
some  of  my  enthusiasm  to  them. 

We  decided  that  in  order  to  avoid  all  suspicion,  the 
Storrs  should  be  told  that  their  guests  would  start 
in  a  day  or  two  for  Montreal,  accompanied  by  my- 
self, to  join  friends  who  were  there.  It  came  as  we 
arranged.  We  told  the  old  people  at  supper,  they 
being  profuse  in  expressions  of  real  regret.  They  re- 
membered my  previous  visit  and  had  no  suspicion 
that  I  was  another  than  I  seemed. 

Renee  confided  to  me  after  supper  that  she  disliked 
to  deceive  the  old  people,  but  that  necessity  knew  no 
law,  to  which  I  agreed.  Shortly  after  supper  I  left 
for  the  town  and  spent  the  night  at  the  King's  Inn. 

The  next  day  was  uneventful,  but  the  succeeding 
morning  ushered  in  one  of  intense  excitement  in  Fron- 
tenac.  Toward  noon  the  Royal  George,  Yeo's  most 
formidable  ship,  came  rushing,  under  full  sail,  into 
the  harbor,  to  anchor  under  the  protection  of  the 
land  batteries  and  the  guns  of  the  fort.  As  he  swung 
around,  his  guns,  pointed  out  over  the  water,  spoke 
hoarsely.  From  far  up  the  lake  there  came  an  an- 
swering roar. 

The  dock  was  soon  thronged  and  the  truth  speedily 
learned.  The  morning  after  my  unexpected  depart- 
ure from  the  Harbor,  it  appeared  Commodore 
Chauncey  had  sailed  out  for  the  first  time  with  his 
pennant  on  the  brig  Oneida,  and  having  in  company 
five  armed  schooners  with  nearly  five  hundred  men 
and  many  marines.  Chauncey  intended  to  intercept 
Yeo's  vessels  on  their  coming  from  Fort  George,  where 
they  had  taken  reinforcements,  and  from  which  their 
return  was  daily  expected.  But  Chauncey  chanced  to 
fall  in  with  the  Royal  George  near  the  False  Ducks 


208  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

and  chased  him  into  the  Bay  of  Quinte,  where  he 
was  lost  in  the  night.  The  next  morning  he  followed 
him  to  Frontenac's  harbor,  as  I  have  said. 

Chauncey's  ships  were  soon  in  sight  and  I  beheld 
them  approach  with  exultation.  I  looked  for  a  suc- 
cessful storming  of  the  defences  and  rather  forgot 
my  own  danger  at  the  prospect.  But  though  a 
tremendous  cannonade  began,  our  ships  did  not 
draw  close  enough  to  work  any  effectual  damage, 
though  the  Royal  George  had  received  several  shots 
between  wind  and  water.  Afterward  Chauncey  re- 
ported that  "he  found  the  defences  stronger  than 
he  expected."  I,  who  was  there,  am  at  a  loss  to  know 
how  he  found  them  so,  as  he  seemed  not  close  enough 
to  adequately  tell. 

With  the  coming  of  evening,  our  fleet  stood  off 
and  anchored  until  the  morning.  Here  was  my  op- 
portunity. Making  arrangements  for  a  skiff,  which 
my  uniform  procured  for  me  unquestioned,  I  hurried 
to  M.  De  Montefort  and  Renee,  advising  them  of 
the  situation.  Getting  together  their  few  belongings, 
including  Renee' s  robin,  we  took  leave  of  the  fugi- 
tives' benefactors,  telling  them  that  a  ship  was  to 
slip  out  that  night  for  Montreal.  Gaining  the  boat 
we  had  in  readiness,  we  pulled  for  Chauncey's  flag- 
ship, far  outside  the  harbor.  By  miraculous  good 
fortune  we  got  away  unobserved.  I  had  located  the 
Oneida  early  in  the  evening  and  pulled  swiftly  toward 
it  in  the  gloom.  Presently  we  neared  it.  A  low 
hail  attracted  the  attention  of  the  vigilant  watch 
upon  the  deck  and  the  three  of  us  were  presently 
assisted  over  the  side. 

"A  greeting,  friends!"  boomed  a  deep  voice  beside 
us.  We  turned. 

It  was  John. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  Wintry  Interlude 

Commodore  Chauncey  soon  raised  his  brief  blockade 
of  Frontenac  and  the  fleet  returned  to  the  Harbor 
with  a  happy  quartet  aboard  the  Oneida.  Some 
heavy  gales  followed,  and  soon  the  ice  closed  in, 
stopping  navigation  for  the  season.  At  the  Harbor 
and  at  Frontenac  preparations  went  merrily  forward 
for  the  succeeding  campaign.  For  our  part,  instead 
of  carrying  the  war  into  the  enemy's  country,  the 
army  of  the  north  had  been  hard  put  to  it  to  protect 
its  own  borders.  The  land  campaign  of  1812  had 
been  scarcely  a  success.  We  had  the  blunders  of  Hull 
at  Detroit  and  Dearborn's  farcical  "  Canadian  in- 
vasion" to  rectify.  The  enemy  also  had  some  galling 
memories  of  errors  to  be  expunged  in  action,  and 
work  was  afoot  in  Frontenac,  particularly  in  brig 
building.  Commodore  Chauncey  was  not  idle  in  this 
regard.  The  Madison  was  launched  in  November, 
being  built  in  forty-five  days,  and  the  brigs  Jefferson 
and  Jones  were  completed  in  the  following  spring,  at 
which  time,  too,  the  keel  of  the  General  Pike  was 
laid.  Crews  from  illustrious  men  o'  war,  afloat  on 
the  Atlantic,  were  sent  to  the  Harbor  to  man  the 
brigs  and  there  was  every  indication  that  Congress 
expected  Ontario  and  the  St.  Lawrence  to  become 
the  theatre  of  notable  naval  doings,  which  might 
ultimately  result  in  a  wholesale  changing  of  maps. 


2io  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

The  expectation,  however,  was  not  distined  to  be 
realized. 

The  winter,  rigorous  in  northern  severity,  closed 
down  upon  us  who  hibernated  in  the  isolated  hamlet, 
flanked  by  the  bare,  desolate  forest,  facing  the  frozen 
lake.  But  we,  through  the  white-stoled  season,  were 
content,  for  it  was  a  congenial  company  in  my 
father's  house.  Renee  and  M.  De  Montefort  had  re- 
cieved  a  warm  welcome  for  my  sake,  and  it  was  but 
a  breath  of  time  ere  my  father  and  sister  valued 
them  for  their  own.  The  two  girls  became  insepara- 
ble and  labored  together  for  the  good  of  the  war- 
riors in  winter  quarters.  I  had  told  Renee  that  she 
would  not  lack  for  occupation  and  my  presage  proved 
true,  for  there  was  much  to  be  done  by  the  loyal 
women  of  the  village.  I  had  secured  an  excellent 
post  for  M.  De  Montefort  in  the  quartermaster's  de- 
partment, which  afforded  him  great  satisfaction,  for 
he  had  a  wholesome  horror  of  anything  approaching 
dependence.  The  securing  of  the  berth,  which  was 
one  of  some  responsibility,  had  gratified  me,  for  I 
knew  we  should  never  have  kept  him  otherwise.  I 
desired  his  company,  and,  more  than  his,  his 
daughter's. 

The  Frenchman  and  my  helpless  old  father  became 
the  best  of  comrades.  The  gallant  old  man,  doomed 
to  watch  in  enforced  inaction  a  contest  in  which  his 
indomitable  soul  would  have  willed  his  body  in  the 
thickest  of  it,  found  in  the  emigre  a  kindred  spirit. 
Thus,  with  John  and  John's  hound,  not  to  forget 
Renee's  impudent  robin,  we  made  a  rarely  pleasant 
circle. 

Our  days  were  busily  spent,  for  there  was  work  for 
all  who  might  perform  it  at  the  Harbor.  We  rose 
with  the  gray  dawn  for  the  early  breakfast  which 


A  WINTRY  INTERLUDE  211 

the  maids  had  prepared,  then  departed  for  our  tasks ; 
John,  M.  De  Montefort  and  I  for  the  barracks  and 
multitudinous  duties;  the  girls  for  the  various  mis- 
sions that  women's  hands  in  those  troublous  days 
could  find  to  perform.  Sometimes  they  were  busy 
with  tasks  that  admitted  of  performance  at  home, 
but  oftener  it  was  away.  There  was  much  sickness 
in  barracks  that  winter  and  the  health  of  many  a 
gallant  fellow  was  restored  through  the  patient  nurs- 
ing of  the  noble  women  at  the  Harbor. 

The  hopes  and  plans  that  required  infinite  labor  for 
fulfillment  made  our  days  busy  indeed  in  the  ice-locked 
snow-bound  port.  But  in  the  long  winter  evenings, 
when  the  tasks  of  the  day  were  done,  as  I  look  back 
upon  them  through  the  mists  of  the  swift-flown  years, 
they  were  perfect;  they  were  ideal.  For  they  marked 
that  epoch  that  comes,  touched  with  a  strange,  sad 
tenderness,  to  the  life  of  that  fortunate  man  in  whose 
soul  there  dawns,  in  golden  glory,  the  one  deep, 
true  love  for  the  one  woman;  the  love  that  is  pure 
and  godlike,  that  is  mellow  as  ripened  grain,  that 
fills  eternity.  Ah,  this  golden  time,  whose  memories 
throb  like  pulsing  music  in  the  after  years;  memories 
so  softly  wistful  to  us  who  passed  through  earth's 
Eden  and  found  it,  ere  we  knew,  behind  us ! 

And  so  it  was  with  me  through  the  long,  white- 
stoled  winter,  the  winter  of  bitter  cold  and  leaden 
skies,  with  the  north  wind  wailing  across  the  sullen, 
ice-sealed  waste  of  old  Ontario  and  the  white  flakes 
eddying  in  the  teeth  of  the  blast.  The  desolate  little 
hamlet,  set  forlornly  between  the  grim,  illimitable 
forest  and  the  great,  frozen  lake,  locked  in  winter's 
bonds,  would  have  been  dreary  indeed,  but  she  was 
there  and  glorified  it.  She  would  have  made  for  me 
an  unending  summer  of  Siberia. 


212  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

My  cheeks  are  furrowed  and  such  hair  as  is  merci- 
fully left  me  is  long  since  gone  gray.  But  as  I  sit 
dreamily  at  the  window,  the  sweet  shadow  of  other 
eyes  falls,  like  a  curtain,  over  my  old  ones  and  I  live 
again  those  winter  nights  of  my  yesterday.  I  see 
my  father,  helpless  in  his  chair,  close  by  the  glowing 
fireplace  with  its  crackling  logs  in  the  great  living 
room;  M.  De  Montefort  in  close  converse  with 
him;  the  gigantic  John,  sprawled  in  his  huge  chair, 
the  inevitable  pipe  between  his  teeth,  his  hound  at 
his  feet.  I  see  my  sister  seated  near  Renee,  myself 
nearby,  where  I  might  look  unrestrained  upon  the 
lovely  face  of  the  girl  I  loved  so  deeply  and  so 
silently.  I  hear  the  music  of  her  voice,  the  music  that 
could  banish  the  oppression  that  came  of  the  wail 
of  winter  winds  that  mourned  and  would  not  be  com- 
forted. Till  the  sum  of  my  years  is  done,  I  pray  that 
this  memory  remain;  the  sight  of  her  face  in  my  old 
eyes,  the  music  of  her  voice  in  my  ears. 

I  dared  not  yet  speak  to  her  of  the  love  that  made 
me  truer  and  more  manly,  for  such  is  the  necromancy 
that  purges  men's  natures  of  their  superabundant 
dross,  to  finally  reveal  the  pure  metal  beneath.  But 
when  the  rest  had  gone  these  winter  evenings  and 
were  sinking  into  well-earned  slumber;  when  the  world 
outside  was  a  study  in  the  starry  black  and  ghostly 
white  of  sky  and  snowbanks,  and  the  peace  of  a  per- 
fect silence  was  undisturbed  save  but  by  an  occasional 
snore  from  Godfrey's  hound,  lying  near  me,  I  was 
sometimes  wont  to  sit  alone  before  the  fireplace  in 
the  living  room  and  stare  in  reverie  at  the  glowing 
logs.  In  the  tongues  of  flame  that  leaped  up  the 
great,  gaping  chimney  I  dreamed  a  promise  in  rosy 
clouds.  When  peace  was  compassed,  when  the  racked 
land  ceased  to  groan  and  the  sword  had  become  a 


A  WINTRY  INTERLUDE  213 

ploughshare,  then  perhaps  hope  might  claim  its  heri- 
tage. And  as  the  blissful  dream  brought  a  tender 
hope  for  the  future,  there  stirred  memories  of  the 
pleasant  past;  a  past  so  recent,  yet  so  long  ago  in 
that  since  then  the  world  had  changed  for  me  and 
become  merged  in  a  sweet  woman  to  be  won.  The 
tide  of  recollection  bore  me,  drifting  in  dreams, 
back  through  that  autumnal  season;  back  to 
the  forest  with  its  ripened  foliage,  its  vista  of  tented 
shade,  through  which  the  gold  of  the  sunlight  glinted 
the  smiling  shadows.  I  heard  again  the  snarl  of 
the  little  stream,  biting  futilely  at  the  boulders  of 
its  bed.  The  cries  of  birds  came  to  me,  the  rustlings 
of  startled  wood  creatures.  And  through  the  restful 
solitude  of  nature,  over  the  crumbling,  moss-grown 
logs,  through  brushing  masses  of  fern,  subtly  sweet, 
following  a  tortuous  path  that  wound  through 
Arcady,  we  walked  together,  Renee  and  I,  for 
always 

Until  a  charred  log  burned  through  and  fell,  sending 
a  shower  of  sparks  flying  up  the  chimney,  or  the 
hound,  dreaming  of  some  blood-stirring  deed  in  his 
crowded  past,  stirred  uneasily  with  a  sharp  yelp, 
bringing  down  the  fabric  of  my  dream  in  rude, 
chaotic  ruin  about  my  ears.  And  I,  recalled  to  reali- 
ties, would  brand  myself  a  fond  fool  with  savage 
emphasis  and  betake  myself  disconsolately  to  bed. 
Arcady,  indeed !  Pleasant,  to  be  sure,  but  others 
peopled  it,  others  as  eager  for  and  doubtless  worthier 
of  favor  than  I.  For  there  were  certain  other  young 
officers  at  the  garrison  who  found  our  house  a 
magnet ;  gallant,  admirable  fellows.  I  hated  them  all. 

Still,  not  all,  for  some  there  were  who  paid  court 
at  the  shrine  of  Dorothy.  These  I  secretly  approved 
and  would  fain  have  bequeathed  to  my  sister  an. 


2i4  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

embarrassment  of  masculine  riches  for  her  choosing 
by  bestowing  upon  her  gentle  graces  the  entire  gallant 
crew.  Still,  had  this  been  the  case  and  the  allegiance, 
instead  of  being  divided  between  two  fair  women, 
had  been  all  bestowed  in  the  quarter  I  told  myself 
I  wished  it  directed,  and  I  been  left  in  the  undis- 
turbed and  sole  possession  of  the  society  of  the 
woman  I  loved,  I  know  I  should  have  been  fully  as 
piqued  and  resentful  at  such  neglect  as  I  was  under 
the  circumstances  actually  existing,  in  which  there 
was  nothing  of  neglect.  For  such  is  this  ludicrous 
contradiction  of  le  grande  passion,  the  lover  rejoicing 
in  and  yet  chagrined  because  of  homage  paid  by 
others  to  the  charms  of  his  choice. 

So  it  transpired  that  some  of  these  winter  even- 
ings were  the  source  of  much  discomfort  to  me,  who 
sat  glum  and  glowered  unobtrusively  at  times  when 
a  pair  of  other  eyes  gazed  deep  into  those  that  now 
held  the  light  of  the  world  for  me  and  another  voice 
than  mine  framed  sallies  and  light  nonsense  that 
brought  the  sparkle  to  her  eyes  and  the  bubbling  of 
soft  laughter  to  her  lips.  There  were  several  of  these 
intruders  and  they  were  always  coming,  to  my  intense 
though  concealed  disgust.  For  Dorothy's  delegation 
I  had  merely  an  amiable  and  kindly  interest,  but  the 
other  was  different.  It  was  hard  to  be  amiably  natur- 
al when  Renee  had  callers,  and  so  I  was  sometimes 
silent,  raging  at  myself  inwardly  the  while  for  being 
a  jealous  fool  where  absolutely  no  excuse  for  jealousy 
existed.  For,  I  assured  my  idiot  self  savagely,  never 
by  the  slightest  sign  had  she  given  me  reason  to 
aspire  to  anything  more  than  her  frank  friendship. 
Therefore,  why, — but,  bah  !  I  was  a  fool ! 

The  latter  fact  I  felt  shamedly  that  Dorothy  divined 
also  at  times,  with  that  diabolical  feminine  intuition 


A  WINTRY  INTERLUDE  215 

that  seems  especially  rampant  in  sisters  and  is  so 
disconcerting  to  a  jealous  man.  Sometimes  when  I 
sat  silent  while  the  rest  were  chattering  merrily, 
Dorothy  would  look  away  from  her  cavalier  for  a 
moment,  her  eyes  flashing  swiftly  toward  Renee's, 
whoever  he  might  happen  to  be  on  that  particular 
evening.  Then  those  eyes,  in  which  rioted  little  dan- 
cing devils  of  soft  malice,  would,  veiled  in  mock  con- 
cern, seek  my  own. 

"What's  the  matter,  Gillie?"  she  would  inquire, 
with  what  I  could  swear  was  an  undue  emphasis  upon 
the  odious  pseudonym,  "you're  not  talking.  That 
is  unusual.  Aren't  you  well?" 

"Perfectly,"  I  would  probably  assure  her,  with  a 
covert,  impotent  glare.  "I  am  simply  tired." 

Perhaps  she  would  turn  to  John,  sprawled  in  a 
great  chair  near  the  fire,  smoking  steadily,  rarely 
speaking  unless  he  had  something  to  say,  which  was 
unlike  the  rest  of  us.  "  Captain  Godfrey,"  the  minx 
would  admonish  severely,  "  look  after  Gillie  more 
closely.  Don't  let  him  overdo.  He  was  delicate  when 
a  child."  And  with  a  last  malicious  smile  the  little 
tormentor  would  leave  me  to  my  ruffled  self,  my 
palms  itching  to  box  her  ears. 

There  was  one  young  subaltern  of  the  regular  infan- 
try whom  I  hated  many  shades  more  than  his  fellows. 
Lieutenant  Henry  Whiting,  a  dashing  young  fellow 
with  a  curly  red  poll  and  ambitious  moustache  to 
match,  fairly  rushed  in  where  I  had  feared  to  tread. 
In  deadly  earnest  he  was;  determined  to  carry  the 
citadel  by  storm.  It  was  his  way ;  action,  ardor  and 
ambition  were  met  in  his  ensanguined  hair.  Often 
he  came  and  then  oftener,  and  always  monopolized 
her  conversation.  The  words  of  his  mouth  flowed 
as  rivers  to  the  sea  and  she  listened  and  laughed 


216  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

and  was  diverted,  while  I  fumed  and  longed  passion- 
ately for  some  excuse  to  pummel  him.  He  was  of 
engaging  personality,  of  fine  antecedents  and  pros- 
pects; young,  ardent  and  palpably  enamored;  an 
excellent  parti.  Her  manner,  too;  was  there  not 
something  in  it  toward  him  with  which  I  had  never 
been  favored?  Yet  again,  when  neither  he  nor  the 
others  chanced  to  be  there,  and  she  set  to  entertain 
me  in  her  pretty,  vivacious  fashion,  while  perhaps 
John  and  Dorothy  played  at  cards  in  a  corner  of 
the  great  living  room  and  M.  De  Montefort  and  my 
father  talked  of  the  momentous  issues  of  the  period 
in  another,  then  hope  would  throb  again  and  I  would 
tell  myself  that  perhaps  after  all  she  cared  no  more 
for  Whiting  or  any  of  the  rest  than  for  me,  and 
that  at  the  least  my  chance  was  as  good  as  his  or 
theirs.  So  the  time  passed  while  I  alternated  be- 
tween wretchedness  and  content,  betwixt  elation  and 
discouragement,  for  after  all  there  are  briers  and 
brambles  even  in  Arcady. 

And  sometimes,  of  a  blustering  night,  the  big  brass 
knocker  would  resound  with  two  dignified  detona- 
tions, and,  on  the  opening  of  the  portal,  in  would 
waddle  the  plump  Noadiah,  his  broad  face  red  as 
the  jackets  of  the  enemy  of  two  wars  gallantly  fought 
by  him,  a  hilarious,  irreverent  zephyr  following  in 
malice  and  clutching  at  his  coat  tails.  And  the 
veteran  would  sit  and  discourse  of  the  stirring  Revo- 
lutionary days  through  which  he  served  as  a  strip- 
ling, of  the  dark  time  at  Valley  Forge,  of  the  inspiring 
denouement  at  Yorktown,  for  he  had  been  with 
Washington.  And  we  listened  appreciatively,  for 
Noadiah  was  an  entertaining  if  somewhat  ponderous 
raconteur. 

Ordinarily  it  was  that  these  tales  fell  from  the  lips 


A  WINTRY  INTERLUDE  217 

of  Noadiah,  when  he  chanced  to  call,  but  not  always. 
For  sometimes  the  Widow  Hankinson  was  there,  she 
whom  Noadiah  had  emphatically  declared  to  me,  on 
a  certain  broken  Sabbath,  to  be  a  woman,  and  which 
assertion  I  had  not  disputed.  And  at  these  times 
the  eloquence  of  Noadiah  was  concentrated  in  his 
bulging  eyes,  but  these  spoke  volumes,  while  those 
of  the  buxom  widow  dropped  modestly  floorward 
with  unforgotten  coyness.  And  the  lips  of  Noadiah 
were  mute  and  dumb,  save  at  intervals  when  there 
issued  from  them,  in  gusty  volume,  the  wordless 
tribute  of  prodigious  sighs. 

And  on  other  evenings,  but  never  by  awkward 
chance  when  Noadiah  was  present,  there  would  sound 
on  the  knocker  three  sharp,  nervous  raps,  like  drum 
taps,  and  in  would  be  ushered  the  withered  Cyrenus, 
with  odd  nods,  peering  swiftly  here  and  there  like  a 
ferret.  The  wrinkled  face  was  now  bare  of  sparse, 
gray  whisker,  for  Cyrenus  shaved  religiously  in  these 
days.  There  was  a  great  change  perceptible  in 
the  little  man  since  the  day  of  his  enlistment. 
With  that  memorable  step  had  returned,  with  odd 
swiftness,  a  virile  self  respect,  latent  for  years,  but 
revived  under  the  sharp  sting  of  awakened  pride  and 
the  responsibilities  entailed  by  his  resumption  of  an 
old  grim  trade  he  loved  and  which  he  so  well  under- 
stood. The  little  man  was  most  valuable  to  us. 
There  was  not  a  man  at  the  Harbor  so  thorough 
in  the  drilling  of  the  raw  militia,  and  he  was  a  strict 
disciplinarian.  I  had  noted  from  the  very  first  that 
his  dissoluteness  of  the  former  time  had  fled.  That  he 
had  his  nips  regularly  in  secret  I  did  not  doubt,  but 
he  was  never  unduly  under  the  influence  of  liquor 
and  never  indulged  in  the  presence  of  his  men.  More- 
over, old  acquired  colloquialisms,  the  result  of  idle, 


218  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

dissolute  years  in  a  new,  raw  country,  were  dropping 
from  his  speech  like  rough,  outworn  garments.  His 
enunciation  at  times  was  now  nearly  as  pure  as  our 
own.  Whatever  his  past,  we  were  certain  that  his 
estate  had  been  considerably  higher  than  the  one  in 
which  the  outbreak  of  the  war  had  found  him. 

There  was  a  mystery  about  him  which  was  impene- 
trable, a  strange,  tantalizing  something  that  stimu- 
lated a  curiosity  that  remained  unsatisfied.  On  one 
occasion,  indeed,  the  spirit  had  moved  him  to  recount 
a  vivid  narrative  of  stirring  experiences  that  par- 
tially removed  the  veil.  We  learned  then  that  he  had 
been  born  in  New  England,  of  old  Puritan  stock,  and 
had,  like  Noadiah,  fought  through  the  Revolution. 
At  the  close  of  that  struggle  he  had  crossed  the 
ocean  to  England,  and,  evidently  from  the  pure  love 
of  fighting  for  fighting's  own  sweet  sake,  he  had 
fought  with  Englishmen  in  some  of  the  tight  little 
island's  omnipresent  wars.  "  I'd  as  soon  fight  under 
any  flag  as  my  own,  for  the  simple  love  of  the  game," 
he  had  concluded,  "but  when  any  other  flag  heads 

a  column  a-marching  against  my  own "  he  paused 

with  an  expressive  gesture,  "why,  you  see  in  whose 
camp  I  am  to-night." 

"Yes,  and  doing  yeoman's  service  !"  exclaimed  John 
warmly,  and  shook  the  little  man's  hand. 

I  have  told  of  the  raps  of  Noadiah  and  Cyrenus 
upon  the  knocker,  raps  that  proclaimed  individuality. 
And  there  was  another,  equally  unmistakable,  and  it 
was  like  a  knell. 

The  lamentations  of  Jeremiah  were  as  psalms  of 
hope  by  comparison  with  the  dirges  of  Abner  Hoi- 
comb.  Some  day  he  would  die.  The  ghost  of  rheu- 
matism would  not  be  exorcised.  He  had  a  misery 
in  his  tubes,  he  could  hear  'em  a-whistlin'  or  sump'n 


A  WINTRY  INTERLUDE  219 

when  he  breathed.  If  the  rheumatiz  didn't  fetch  him, 
they  would.  An'  Betsey,  he  was  worryin'  about 
Betsey  an'  the  farm.  He  felt  sartin  that  her  hired 
man  was  shiftless  and  of  no  account.  The  war  was 
wearin'  on  him,  wearin'  on  all  of  us.  Mout  as  well 
gin  in,  the  Britishers  would  have  us  in  the  end. 
What  was  the  use  of  anything? 

All  this  in  a  voice  like  the  whimper  of  the  north 
wind  in  the  pines  of  a  lonely  graveyard,  while  some- 
one shivered  and  thrust  more  wood  in  the  fireplace. 
Abner's  solemn  eyes  stared  like  the  yawning  gateways 
of  twin  tombs ;  depression  brooded  in  his  discouraged 
whiskers ;  his  masticating  jaws  moved  eternally  with 
the  slow,  sombre  iteration  of  footfalls  in  a  funeral 
cortege  to  the  strains  of  a  dead  march ;  his  face 

But  why  continue?  Life  is  short  even  as  the  face 
of  Abner  was  long. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
The  Brand  of  the  Bravo 

Spring,  like  dew,  again  fell  upon  the  land.  Dead 
things  were  quickened,  bursting  into  bloom.  The 
grass,  redolent  with  sweet  savor,  grew  in  green  fra- 
grance, glad,  luxuriant.  Bare  boughs  blossomed, 
giving  forth  their  increase.  The  desolate  forest,  yes- 
terday a  shrouded  dirge,  became  to-day  a  living 
bower  of  beauty.  The  frogs  grumbled  placidly,  croak- 
ing in  the  marshes.  Renee's  robin  left  off  moping, 
swaggered  like  a  bravo  and  fell  to  grubbing. 

There  was  a  stir  at  the  Harbor,  an  electric  quality 
in  the  air  which  promised  action  after  a  long,  en- 
rusting  rest.  The  little  army,  emerging  like  a  bear 
from  its  cave  after  a  winter  of  hibernation,  stretched 
its  claws  and  yawned  hungrily.  It  was  the  begin- 
ning of  a  campaign  which  the  rank  and  file  hoped 
to  make  glorious;  hoped  to  render  Ontario  and  the 
frontier  immortal.  There  was  a  cheerful  bustle;  the 
constant  arrival  of  small  reinforcements;  ceaseless 
drilling,  the  acquiring  of  new  stores  and  equipments ; 
the  ring  of  hammers  in  the  ship  yards.  There  was 
keen  expectancy;  the  anticipation  of  great,  round 
deeds ;  of  swelling  achievement. 

April  the  twenty-second  some  two  thousand  troops, 
under  the  immediate  charge  of  General  Zebulon  M. 
Pike,  were  embarked  on  the  fleet  of  Commodore 
Chauncey,  John's  company  and  mine  being  among 


THE  BRAND  OF  THE  BRAVO  221 

them.  For  three  days  we  remained  moored  in  the 
Harbor.  Finally  the  ships  weighed  anchor,  and, 
headed  by  the  Oneida,  Chauncey's  flagship,  with  their 
great,  white  sails  bellying  in  the  strong  breeze,  moved 
from  their  moorings. 

From  the  deck  of  the  Oneida  I  gazed  back  at  the 
town.  We  rounded  the  long,  low  point  that  penned 
the  harbor,  sweeping  about  it  into  the  tumbling 
whitecaps  of  the  bay,  whipped  into  tips  of  crested 
foam  by  the  wind.  The  sky,  like  an  inverted  blue 
bowl,  was  cloudless.  The  golden  glow  of  an  un- 
shadowed sun  limned  the  lake  with  glory. 

The  surf  sounded  in  our  rear,  beating  against 
the  great  wall  of  limestone  that  for  nearly  a  mile 
stretched  its  gray,  sheer  length  before  the  town,  a 
natural  rampart,  at  the  verge  of  which  the  cannon 
frowned,  their  muzzles  pointing  across  the  miles  that 
led  to  Frontenac.  The  bluff  was  thronged,  and  with 
the  cheers  there  blended  the  crashing  blare  of  bands. 
I  searched  the  crowd  on  the  cliff  with  wistful  eyes 
that  were  rewarded.  She  stood  there  with  Dorothy, 
a  slim  hand  of  each  waving  a  white  wisp  of  a  hand- 
kerchief. I  swung  my  hat  in  reply,  and  John,  who 
stood  by  me,  doffed  the  nondescript  felt  affair  he 
wore  and  stared  with  me  at  the  receding  shore  until 
the  inevitable  pipe  had  gone  out.  Anathematizing  it 
softly,  he  relighted  it. 

"Whither  are  we  bound,  Gilbert?"  he  asked,  puffing 
pale  blue  clouds  that  whisked  in  the  wind.  He  had 
but  just  boarded  the  fleet  before  we  sailed,  having 
returned  only  the  night  previous  from  the  execution 
of  a  commission  at  Ogdensburgh. 

"  My  boy,"  I  answered,  reluctantly  removing  my 
gaze  from  the  lessening  figures  on  the  cliff,  "great 
secrecy  hath  been  observed.  Not  more  than  a  handful 


222  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

of  men  aboard  the  fleet  know  where  it  is  taking  them. 
I  am  one  of  the  handful.  Sing  psalms,  John,  for  it's 
York,  naught  else  but  Little  York." 

"  Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent "  psalmed 

John,  but  I  silenced  him  with  a  brandished  handspike. 

"  I  can  hardly  credit  it,"  he  commented  soberly, 
"  that  there  is  actually  a  probability  of  action.  If  I 
dream,  Gilbert,  do  not  wake  me." 

"Not  I,"  I  answered,  ''and  heaven  help  the  man 
who  should.  You  would  be  ill  natured." 

"True,  I  should,"  he  replied,  thumbing  his  pipe 
bowl.  "As  it  is,  the  project  gives  me  a  peaceful 
anticipation.  I  long  to  exercise  my  muscles  and  my 
lungs,  for  I  shall  probably  yell  a  little." 

"  You  will  likely  need  to  do  both,"  I  responded.  "  I 
am  a  little  afraid  of  our  militia.  Good  fellows,  all, 
but  unused  to  this  business  and  rather  raw.  We 
should  tie  them  to  us." 

"When  the  time  comes,"  returned  John,  "I  think 
we  shall  find  that  the  knots  of  loyalty  will  hold." 
We  relapsed  into  silence,  gazing  out  upon  the  sunlit 
water,  diademed  with  spray.  The  staunch  new  tim- 
bers creaked;  the  wind  droned  through  the  rigging; 
the  great  sails  bellied  in  the  breeze.  We  drove  to  the 
west  in  the  rush  of  a  strong  head  wind.  In  the  wake 
of  the  Oneida  there  followed  the  Madison,  Hamilton, 
Conquest,  Governor  Tompkins  and  eight  other  brigs 
and  armed  schooners,  sliding  with  the  surges,  the 
water  breaking  in  miniature  cascades  from  the  ad- 
vancing bows  on  either  side. 

The  movement  was  in  accordance  with  a  plan 
of  operations  against  Canada,  which  had  been  form- 
ulated in  the  cabinet  at  Washington  that  winter. 
General  Dearborn  had  been  acquainted  with 
it  in  February.  He  was  directed  to  assemble 


THE  BRAND  OF  THE  BRAVO  223 

large  forces  at  Sackets  Harbor  and  Buffalo.  The 
force  at  the  Harbor  was  designed  to  be  landed  at 
Frontenac,  and,  after  securing  that  town  and  the 
shipping  in  the  harbor,  was  to  proceed  to  Little 
York  and  seize  the  stores  collected  there  and  some 
British  frigates  in  course  of  building.  General  Brown 
had  orders  to  have  a  large  force  of  militia  in  reserve. 
Later  in  the  spring  the  prudential  policy  of  the  gov- 
ernment— perhaps  this  time  fortunately — deferred  tem- 
porarily the  attack  on  Frontenac  and  substituted  in- 
stead that  upon  Little  York,  at  the  head  of  the 
lake.  Could  that  post  be  taken,  it  would  give  us  the 
command  of  Ontario  and  our  troops  could  advance 
to  attack  Fort  George  by  land  and  water,  while  the 
troops  at  Buffalo  could  cross  over  and  carry  Forts 
Erie  and  Chippewa  and  join  the  army  at  Fort  George. 
From  there  the  combined  forces  might  concentrate  on 
Frontenac,  for  such  now  was  the  varying  program. 
So  to  this  end  the  troops,  under  General  Pike,  had 
been  embarked  on  Chauncey's  fleet,  as  I  have  re- 
corded, the  whole  being  directed  by  Dearborn. 

On  we  rushed,  past  the  wooded  headlands  that  girt 
Henderson  Harbor;  by  the  wind-swept  sand  dunes 
that  marked,  a  few  miles  further  west,  the  confines  of 
the  great  Mexico  Bay.  The  wind  rose,  whining 
through  the  cordage;  the  ships  were  lifted  on  the 
breasts  of  great,  rolling  swells.  The  wind  was  with 
us,  driving  us  in  a  cloud  of  spray  on  toward 
Little  York.  Wooded  islands  lay,  dark  and  sullen,  to 
the  north.  We  neared  them,  hearing  the  morose 
growl  of  the  surf  upon  their  beaches. 

The  hours  passed,  the  men  upon  the  decks  busy 
with  grim  preparations.  Could  human  effort  com- 
pass it,  there  would  be  a  great,  round  deed  whose 
sequence  should  not  spell  a  cipher.  The  wind  rose 


224  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

mightily,  its  tug  fairly  lifting  the  boats  from  the 
water.  The  canvas  stretched  taut,  blown  stiffly  in- 
ward, tight  as  a  drumhead.  Dusk  fell  and  the  night 
came  on,  the  wind  dying  gradually.  Still  we  sailed 
on,  like  dim  ghosts  in  the  dark.  The  dawn  came 
with  a  freshening  wind  and  we  rushed  on,  renewed,  to 
the  west. 

And  so  on,  while  the  hours  dragged  like  years. 
Now  all  eyes  were  strained  for  the  town,  and  at  last, 
the  third  day  out,  there  rose  a  yell  from  the  deck  of 
the  Oneida  that  was  echoed  from  the  other  boats  of 
the  fleet.  Little  York  was  close  at  hand.  In  a  few 
moments  we  were  sweeping  by  it.  There  was  no  de- 
lay. Seamen  sprang  to  their  places  to  slacken  sail 
and  prepare  to  lay  to  for  the  landing,  which  was  to  be 
by  small  boats  at  an  open  field  just  beyond  the  town. 

Scores  of  men  sprang  to  the  boats,  dropping  over 
the  sides  of  the  ships  like  ants.  Hundreds  tumbled 
into  the  batteaux,  tossing  like  corks  upon  the  swells. 
In  a  breath  of  time  the  long  line  of  boats  from  the 
thirteen  ships  were  pulling  steadily  toward  the  shore 
through  the  rolling  sea  that  hissed  and  boiled  under 
the  lash  of  the  wind,  which  carried  them  far  below 
their-  intended  stopping  place,  toward  a  stretch  of 
dense  woodland.  The  ships,  meanwhile,  prepared  to 
cover  our  approach  with  a  wholesale  shelling  of  the 
enemy's  shores. 

Major  Forsyth,  with  his  rifle  corps,  first  approached 
the  beach.  John  and  I,  with  our  commands,  were  in 
batteaux  immediately  behind  him.  Suddenly  there 
came  a  volley  from  the  woods,  now  close  at  hand. 
The  water  spattered  in  jets  about  us.  An  oath  from 
John  caused  me  to  turn  my  head.  Only  the  stem  of 
his  pipe  remained  between  his  teeth.  The  bowl  was 
gone.  I  laughed,  a  trifle  nervously. 


THE  BRAND  OF  THE  BRAVO  225 

Major  Forsyth  gave  an  order.  The  men  ceased 
rowing,  our  own  following  suit.  A  moment  later  and 
the  echoes  rolled  back  from  our  return  fire,  poured 
into  the  woods.  We  resumed  rowing,  rapidly  ap- 
proaching the  shore.  A  moment  later  a  boat  passed 
us,  the  oarsmen  pulling  like  mad.  General  Pike  sat 
in  the  stern,  his  eyes  burning,  his  face  aglow  with  the 
lust  to  land. 

His  was  the  first  boat  to  reach  the  shore,  the  others 
putting  pell-mell  after  him.  As  the  boat  grounded 
he  leaped  into  the  water,  splashing  to  the  wooded 
bank,  his  men  following.  There  was  a  hat  swung  in 
air,  the  glimpse  of  an  ensanguined  poll.  I  noted 
Lieutenant  Whiting  with  a  grudging  tribute  to  his 
quality.  He  was  certainly  eager  enough.  Forming 
quickly,  with  the  fire  of  the  unseen  enemy  pouring 
down  upon  us,  we  scaled  the  bank  with  Yankee  yells, 
Pike  at  the  head.  The  enemy  had  been  lurking  in  the 
woods.  He  ran,  we  after  him. 

Forsyth  landed  some  distance  above.  At  this  in- 
stant his  bugles  sounded  and  we  heard  the  crackle  of 
musketry.  As  we  rushed  on,  loud  yells  of  fear  sounded 
nearby  and  there  rushed  past  as  on  the  wind's  wings 
a  scurrying  cloud  of  savages,  unreliable  British  allies. 
Also  some  militia  uniforms  gleamed  ahead.  We  hur- 
ried on  in  pursuit. 

John  and  I  ran  through  the  forest,  our  men,  who 
merited  more  trust  than  I  had  reposed  in  them,  at 
our  heels.  Close  to  me  trotted  Cyrenus,  agile,  tire- 
less as  a  terrier.  Near  John,  the  portly  Noadiah 
floundered  like  a  fleshy  bull,  eyes  protruding,  fat  face 
the  color  of  the  enemy,  strangling  gasps  in  his  throat. 
But  he  kept  on,  while  Cyrenus  grinned  as  he  trotted. 
Abner  Holcomb  was  at  my  heels,  his  old  musket  over 
his  bony  shoulder,  striding  unbelievable  strides  as 


226   THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

though  he  had  seven  league  boots,  a  funereal  expres- 
sion without  animation  upon  his  face.  He  looked  the 
same  as  when  in  church  with  Betsey  in  the  brief  in- 
terval before  sleep  claimed  him  at  each  successive 
service. 

From  the  lake  there  came  the  thunder  of  Chauncey's 
cannonade  and  we  knew  that  the  remainder  of  the 
troops,  under  its  cover,  were  landing  in  the  woods 
now  deserted  by  the  enemy,  and  would  speedily  follow 
us. 

When  the  last  of  the  flying  enemy  had  halted  in  the 
friendly  forest  shade  we  stopped  also.  Waiting  for  the 
rest  of  the  troops  to  come  up,  we  re-formed  to  pass 
in  sections  through  the  woods.  Some  field-pieces  and 
a  howitzer  were  hauled  up,  with  infinite  difficulty,  to 
protect  the  head  of  the  column.  The  Fifteenth  Regi- 
ment of  regulars  joined  us,  taking  the  lead,  which 
imparted  more  encouragement  to  the  militiamen.  We 
now  pushed  on  in  the  direction  of  the  fort. 

The  enemy  gave  us  an  arduous  time  in  doing  it, 
though  not  by  opposing  arms.  We  encountered  a 
couple  of  streams  over  which  they  had,  with  solicitous 
forethought,  removed  the  bridges.  At  last  we  came 
into  a  clearing,  the  fort  lying  just  beyond  it.  The 
men  burst  into  cheers. 

In  this  clearing,  confronting  us,  gaped  the  muzzles 
of  a  battery  of  twenty-four-pounders,  unlimbered  for 
our  reception.  Captain  Walworth,  of  the  Sixteenth 
regulars,  to  which  Lieutenant  Whiting  belonged,  was 
ordered  to  storm  this  battery.  The  men  rushed 
across  the  intervening  space  with  fixed  bayonets, 
John's  troops  and  mine  following,  and  the  sight  was 
all  that  was  needed.  The  gunners,  who  evidently 
regarded  cold  steel  with  aversion,  delivered  one  badly 
#imed  volley  and  fled,  We  were  in  peaceful  possession 


THE  BRAND  OF  THE  BRAVO  227 

of  the  swiftly  silenced  battery.  Lieutenant  Whiting 
had  been  in  the  front.  I  could  not  help  but  admire 
the  fellow. 

The  militia  halted  there  to  hold  the  position  while 
the  regulars  swept  on,  and,  with  ridiculous  ease,  soon 
occupied  the  works  and  silenced  the  remaining  bat- 
teries. The  enemy  had  displayed  a  feather  of  virginal 
whiteness. 

John  leaned  against  one  of  the  impotent  guns. 
"H — 1!"  he  commented  savagely. 

"On  the  contrary,"  I  observed  placidly,  "it  is 
heavenly.  They  turn  the  other  cheek." 

"To  think  that  Englishmen  should  run  like 
women!"  he  exclaimed.  "It  shames  my  blood!" 

"Most  who  ran,"  I  observed  gently,  "are  raw 
Canadian  militiamen.  And  many,  too,  were  cursed 
redskins,  British  only  by  the  grace  of  godless  emis- 
saries. What  did  you  expect?" 

"Fighting!"  he  growled.  "I  have  had  a  foot 
race!"  The  broken  pipe  stem,  still  clenched  between 
his  teeth,  tilted  aggressively.  I  reached  up,  removing 
it. 

"Have  another,  John,  a  whole  one,"  I  suggested 
soothingly,  and  handed  him  my  own,  together  with 
my  tobacco  pouch.  Nicotine,  like  the  witch  she  is, 
presently  soothed  his  spirit. 

Cyrenus  trotted  about  us,  snuffing  tentatively, 
darting  uneasy  glances  here  and  there,  like  a  ferret. 
Nearby  stood  Noadiah,  a  man  apart,  still  blowing 
like  a  foundered  horse.  Holcomb  masticated  to- 
bacco in  deep  melancholy. 

"Do  we  loot?"  asked  Cyrenus,  addressing  either  or 
both  of  us. 

"Loot?  Well,  no!"  replied  John,  staring  at  him. 
"And  don't  you  let  me  catch  you  at  it!" 


"Well,  I  didn't  know,"  returned  Cyrenus,  in  an  in- 
jured way.  "  I  need  some  new  things." 

"You  go  to  the  devil!"  said  John.  And  Cyrenus 
went,  for  a  moment  afterward  we  saw  him  stealthily 
uncorking  a  treasured  flask.  It  was  excusable;  the 
occasion  demanded  recognition  of  some  kind.  Far 
from  reproaching  him,  we  sampled  his  store  and 
found  it  good. 

"There  is  some  things,"  commented  Abner,  the  last 
served,  wiping  his  mouth  on  the  back  of  his  hand, 
"what  rekerncile  me  to  livin'  away  from  Betsey." 
And  he  cast  a  compassionate  glance  toward  Noadiah, 
who,  the  bottle  being  Cyrenus',  had  not  imbibed. 

General  Pike  stood  nearby,  talking  with  some 
officers.  Ere  long  he  ceased  in  order  to  minister  to 
the  needs  of  a  wounded  British  sergeant  who  was 
discovered  near  the  group.  From  time  to  time  he 
glanced  toward  the  town,  whose  surrender  was  mo- 
mentarily expected.  The  troops  were  again  preparing 
to  form,  ready  to  march  into  it.  Suddenly  John 
grasped  my  arm.  "Look  there!"  he  exclaimed, 
pointing. 

There  stood,  some  little  distance  in  front  of  us,  a 
square,  substantial  building,  evidently  an  adjunct  to 
the  fort.  Toward  it  there  was  creeping  upon  his 
belly,  through  a  low  thicket,  the  figure  of  a  man, 
worming  along  like  a  snake.  He  had  evidently 
emerged  from  the  fringe  of  the  adjoining  forest. 

He  made  his  way  swiftly  to  the  rear  of  the 
building,  then  partially  rose.  His  garb  was  of  a 
nondescript  type.  But  the  face,  mottled  and  wicked 
to  look  upon;  the  red  hair  and  bushy  beard;  the  yel- 
low eyes  like  a  cat's;  the  burly  figure!  Red  Rolfe  in 
the  evil  flesh,  stealing  on  like  a  thief.  For  what 
sinister  purpose? 


THE  BRAND  OF  THE  BRAVO      229 

He  had  not  seen  us.  His  savages,  undoubtedly 
those  who  had  rushed  by  us  through  the  forest, 
where  were  they? 

All  the  hate  of  the  world  surged  through  me.  I 
lifted  my  rifle  to  my  shoulder.  John  struck  it  down. 

"Not  that,  Gilbert,  not  that!"  he  muttered,  his 
voice  strange  in  my  ears. 

I  stared  into  his  white  face.  "  He  is  a  devil,  John," 
I  answered  fiercely.  "Let  me  send  him  home!" 

He  only  shook  his  head,  his  face  shadowed.  The 
man  ahead,  moving  forward  cautiously,  had  gained  a 
point  some  distance  behind  the  building.  He  now 
stood  again  erect,  facing  us.  There  was  a  burning, 
hissing  object  in  his  hand. 

John  sprang  forward  with  a  cry,  his  rifle  coming  to 
his  shoulder.  "Drop  it!"  he  shouted,  "or  you  die!" 

The  bravo  turned,  his  face  like  a  fiend's.  "Be 

d d  to  you!"  he  roared,  in  that  strange  voice 

that  rolled  in  rich  melody  out  of  his  unclean  throat. 
The  flaming  brand  flew  through  the  air,  straight  into 
the  building. 

There  was  a  roar  like  the  mingling  of  many  thun- 
ders; a  blinding  flash  that  seared  the  eyes,  leaving 
darkness  and  silence.  After  a  while  my  eyes  opened. 
On  all  sides  awful  groans  of  agony  were  sounding. 

I  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture,  bewildered  eyes 
searching  the  chaos  about  me.  The  pitiful  outcries  of 
wounded  men  came  to  me;  the  ground  was  strewn 
with  blackened  corpses.  There  was  the  odor  of 
burned  flesh ;  a  horrible  mingling  of  gruesome  sights 
and  sounds.  I  was  aware  of  arms  supporting  me.  I 
looked  up.  John's  face  was  bending  over  me,  sombre 
as  the  tomb. 

I  struggled  weakly  to  my  feet.  "John,  what  does 
this  mean?"  I  cried  wildly,  my  head  reeling. 


"  The  powder  magazine  was  blown  up,"  he  answered 
dully.  "  Many  are  killed." 

I  glanced  to  the  left.  A  squad  of  soldiers  were 
carrying  away  an  officer.  The  blood  was  dripping 
from  the  litter.  I  marked  his  face  with  a  cry. 

"General  Pike!"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  he  is  dying,"  rejoined  John,  still  in  that  odd 
tone. 

"Ah,  that  devil !"  I  burst  out,  dry  sobs  tearing  my 
throat.  "Curse  him!  Why  did  you  not  let  me  kill 
him!" 

John  turned  to  me,  his  face  convulsed.  "  Gilbert," 
he  exclaimed  harshly,  "  I  wish  I  had !  I  wish  I  had ! 
Could  I  but  have  had  a  second  more,  I  would  have 
killed  him  myself!  Better  twenty  such  fratricides 
than  this!"  And  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

I  stared  at  him,  horror  in  my  eyes.  "John!"  I 
gasped,  "you  do  not  mean,  you  cannot  mean  that 
he  is " 

He  stood  upright,  his  eyes,  full  of  sombre  rage, 
fixed  on  the  blackened  ruin  of  the  powder  magazine, 
from  which  poured  dense  clouds  of  smoke,  mingled 
with  the  writhing  of  tongues  of  shooting  flame. 

"  Gilbert,"  he  said,  "  I  pray  God  that  he  no  longer 
is,  but  was  my  brother!" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
A  Leaf  from  the  Past 

I  had  lain  inert  but  for  a  moment  in  that  infernal 
chaos  of  death.  I  removed  my  gaze  from  John's 
face,  trying  to  realize  the  grisly  meaning  of  what  he 
had  told  me.  It  was  incomprehensible;  it  stunned 
me. 

At  that  moment  there  sounded  in  our  ears  the 
rattling  strains  of  "  Yankee  Doodle."  Close  by  stood 
the  regimental  band,  playing  as  coolly  as  if  on 
dress  parade.  There  were  deep  throated  cheers;  the 
torn  column  closed  up.  John  and  I,  with  a  mutual 
awakening  to  duty,  moved  up  with  them,  our  men 
following  us. 

In  advance,  with  our  rifles  at  shoulder,  for  despite 
our  rank  we  carried  them  as  indispensable  adjuncts 
to  our  method  of  warfare, — both  of  us  being  excellent 
shots, — we  proceeded.  The  scene  was  indescribably 
gruesome.  We  slipped  in  pools  of  blood,  stepped 
across  the  shattered  fragments  of  rent  humanity  that 
had  been  comrades.  Groans  from  the  wounded 
sounded  on  all  sides ;  voices  shrieked  aloud  for  death 
to  end  agony.  In  that  roar  of  desolation  nearly 
three  hundred  of  our  own  men  and  the  enemy's  forces 
had  been  killed  and  wounded.  We  who  had  seen 
could  but  hope  that  the  fiend  who  created  the  havoc 
lay  dead  in  the  ruin  he  had  wrought. 

At  the  moment  of  the  explosion  General  Pike  was 


232  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

sitting  on  a  stump,  whither  some  men  had  carried  the 
wounded  English  sergeant  to  whom  he  was  minister- 
ing. As  the  thunderous  discharge  sounded,  blowing 
five  hundred  barrels  of  powder  and  a  great  quantity 
of  stone,  together  with  the  fragments  of  the  building 
into  the  air,  the  general  was  bending  over  the  pris- 
oner, .examining  his  wounds.  They  drew  the  com- 
mander out  from  under  a  pile  of  debris.  Turning 
to  Captain  Nicholson,  who  bent  over  him,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  I  am  mortally  wounded."  They  procured 
a  litter  and  carried  him  from  the  field. 

While  the  strains  of  the  rollicking  "  Yankee  Doodle" 
filled  the  air,  our  column  speedily  re-formed  and  we 
started  grimly  for  the  town.  Had  but  one  man  been 
left  alive  to  reach  it,  he  would  have  finally  fallen 
riddled  in  the  breast,  for  not  a  man  showed  his 
back  to  the  enemy  that  day.  But  even  as  we  swept 
on,  murderously  silent,  our  eyes  caught  the  glimpse 
of  a  fluttering  flag  far  ahead,  where  the  advance 
guard  had  preceded  us.  It  sank  gradually  from 
sight.  A  moment  later  and  another  banner  rose  in 
its  place,  waving  in  the  wind.  We  stopped,  swinging 
our  caps  in  the  air,  shrieking  mad  cheers. 

Far  back,  General  Pike,  who  was  being  borne  from 
the  field,  heard  the  tumult  and  turned  his  head  to- 
ward an  attending  sergeant  in  mute  inquiry.  "The 
union  jack  is  down  and  the  stars  and  stripes  are 
up!"  cried  the  man,  in  an  excess  of  joy.  And  the 
dying  hero,  racked  with  agony,  smiled. 

He  was  borne  tenderly  to  the  Oneida.  He  could 
not  speak,  but  lay  with  glad  eyes,  gasping  out  his 
life.  They  brought  the  captured  union  jack  on  board. 
He  motioned  feebly  for  the  trophy  and  they  folded 
it,  placing  it  under  his  head.  Then,  while  the  un- 
easy fingers  picked  at  the  coverlet,  he  died. 


A  LEAF  FROM  THE  PAST  233 

So  passed  a  hero,  whose  record  shines  with  as  white 
a  lustre  as  the  glory  of  the  snow-crowned  peak  in 
Colorado,  the  wonder  of  a  continent,  which  he  dis- 
covered and  which  was  christened  for  him.  Of  sturdy 
liberty-loving  stock  he  was,  son  of  an  illustrious 
patriot  of  the  Revolution,  who  survived  his  boy  but 
was  too  old  to  serve  in  this  second  war  against 
the  mistress  of  the  seas.  In  a  letter  to  his  venerable 
parent,  written  the  day  before  this  expedition,  the 
martyred  patriot  had  said  : 

"Should  I  be  the  happy  mortal  destined  to  turn 
the  scale  of  war,  will  you  not  rejoice,  O,  my  father? 
May  heaven  be  propitious  and  smile  on  the  cause  of 
my  country !  But  if  we  are  destined  to  fall,  may 
my  fall  be  like  Wolfe's,  to  sleep  in  the  arms  of  vic- 
tory." 

With  the  removal  of  General  Pike  to  the  Oneida, 
Colonel  Pearce,  on  whom  the  command  devolved, 
took  possession  of  the  barracks,  then  advanced  to 
the  town.  On  the  way  he  was  met  by  the  officers  of 
the  Canadian  militia,  who  proposed  a  capitulation. 
This  was  agreed  to,  shortsightedly,  as  it  proved, 
for  we  learned  later  that  it  was  brought  about  to 
allow  General  Sheaffe,  with  the  British  regulars,  to 
escape  to  their  vessels  and  also  to  destroy  the  stores. 
The  plans  of  the  enemy  were  eminently  successful. 
The  regulars  made  good  their  retreat  and  several 
vessels  were  burned,  as  were  also  large  quantities 
of  military  and  naval  stores  that  we  had  hoped  to 
acquire. 

And  still,  be  it  forever  told  to  the  credit  of  our 
men,  despite  the  exasperation  caused  by  the  loss  of 
life  in  the  explosion  of  the  magazine  and  the  flight  of 
the  regulars  and  destruction  of  stores  that  we  had 
expected  to  confiscate,  the  citizens  were  treated  with 


234  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

a  consideration  that  caused  them  blank  amazement. 
Such  had  been  the  strict  orders  of  General  Pike,  and 
they  were  carried  out  after  his  death,  though  there 
was  indeed  slight  disposition  to  disobey  them. 

A  few  days  after  our  occupancy  of  Little  York  the 
troops  were  re-embarked  to  proceed  immediately  to 
Niagara.  It  had  been  intended  to  do  this  sooner, 
but  a  week's  delay  was  caused  by  bad  weather,  ren- 
dering sailing  dangerous.  Other  vexatious  circum- 
stances served  to  further  delay  the  embarkation. 
During  this  time,  some  schooners,  doing  duty  as 
troop  ships,  brought  us  reinforcements  from  Sackets 
Harbor  and  Buffalo.  At  length  Dearborn,  with  five 
thousand  men,  sailed  for  Fort  George.  He  resolved 
to  make  the  landing  upon  the  peninsula,  on  which 
the  fortress  was  situated,  in  six  divisions,  under 
cover  of  the  fire  of  the  fleet.  The  first  division,  of 
five  hundred  men,  was  commanded  by  Colonel  Win- 
field  Scott,  who  volunteered  for  the  service,  followed 
by  Colonel  Porter  with  a  reserve.  The  gallant  Perry 
offered  to  superintend  the  landing  of  the  boats,  which 
would  have  to  be  effected  under  a  galling  fire  and 
through  a  roaring  surf.  The  world  knows  of  the  result 
of  that  fearless  sortie,  one  of  the  few  bright  spots 
upon  our  page  of  the  ledger  of  those  two  disappoint- 
ing years.  History  has  writ  of  the  reckless,  bril- 
liant charge  of  the  intrepid  Scott,  an  invulnerable 
Achilles ;  of  how  Dearborn,  watching  the  fierce  assault 
from  the  deck  of  theOneida,  burst  into  tears  as  he  saw 
the  giant  form  of  the  dashing  leader,  whom  the  gods 
loved  too  well  to  destroy,  tumble  backward  down  the 
ramparts  that  his  men  were  storming.  Dearborn  cried 
out  that  he  was  killed,  but  the  hero,  up  in  a  flash, 
led  the  way  over  the  battlements  unharmed,  routing 
the  enemy,  and,  leaping  upon  a  horse,  headed  his 


A  LEAF  FROM  THE  PAST  235 

column  in  the  pursuit  after  the  redcoats,  who  fled 
like  chaff  before  him.  If  the  country  was  cursed  with 
Hulls,  she  still  had  her  Scotts,  her  Pikes  and  Browns. 

These  attacks  upon  the  forts  of  Niagara,  however, 
were  not  participated  in  by  John  and  I.  With  our 
commands  we  had  returned  unexpectedly  to  the  Har- 
bor, opportunely,  to  be  sure.  After  the  arrival  of 
the  schooners  that  had  brought  the  reinforcements, 
General  Dearborn  became  torn  with  misgivings,  for 
he  remembered  Frontenac.  Might  not  Provost  and 
Yeo  take  advantage  of  the  splendid  opportunity 
afforded  of  falling  upon  the  Harbor  while  the  de- 
fenders were  nearly  all  away?  The  reinforcements 
that  had  arrived  from  the  post  consisted  mainly  of 
regulars.  Only  a  handful  had  been  left  there  and 
the  militia  constituted  the  only  reserve  that  could 
be  but  indifferently  depended  upon,  for  they  had 
fought  scarcely  at  all.  There  were  stores  at  the 
Harbor  in  plenty  and  new  brigs  in  the  process  of 
building;  in  fact,  a  pretty  tidbit  for  the  enemy, 
should  his  teeth  fancy  it.  Obviously  he  should 
be  forestalled.  Obviously  also,  some  troops  should 
be  returned  to  the  well  nigh  deserted  post.  The  up- 
shot was  that  several  companies  of  the  best  trained 
militia,  with  which  category  John's  command  and  my 
own  were  honored  by  inclusion,  with  a  small  rein- 
forcing detachment  of  regulars,  were  loaded  upon 
some  lightly  armed  schooners  and  sent  back  forth- 
with to  the  Harbor. 

So  it  happened  that  upon  a  day  in  the  second 
week  in  May  I  stood  upon  the  deck  of  the  Julia, 
quietly  smoking  and  gazing  down  at  the  blue-green 
water  which  slipped  rapidly  by  under  us.  We  moved 
with  swiftness  by  the  grace  of  a  favoring  wind.  The 
lowering  skies  and  passion-torn  waters  of  the  past 


23  6  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

few  days  were  gone  like  evil  dreams.  The  fresh  breath 
of  the  mild  May  morning  bestowed  its  benison;  the 
few  clouds  that  loafed  lazily  in  the  blue  of  the  smiling 
sky  gleamed  white  as  the  sails  below  in  the  sunshine. 
Not  a  craft  was  in  sight  other  than  our  own.  The 
rippling  green  field,  powdered  with  tiny  foam  patches, 
stretched  east  and  west ;  undulating,  uneasy,  endless. 
Afar  in  the  lake  islands  loomed  low  and  blue  on  the 
clear  horizon,  a  shade  deeper  than  the  sky.  To  the 
south  gleamed  the  golden,  drifting  sand  dunes  of 
Mexico  Bay,  on  the  long  beach  of  which  we  could 
hear  distantly  the  lapping  of  the  waves,  throbbing 
in  their  eternal  monotone.  Beyond,  now  but  a 
breath  away,  loomed  the  stretch  of  forest  that 
followed  the  shore  line  to  the  western  confines  of 
Henderson  Harbor. 

Lieutenant  Whiting,  who  was  in  charge  of  the  de- 
tachment of  regulars  returning  with  us,  approached 
me.  He  held  his  hat  in  his  hand,  the  sunlight  riot- 
ing in  his  curly  red  hair.  He  looked  somewhat 
troubled  and  his  eyes  were  haggard.  I  strove  to  be 
cordial.  After  all,  his  gallantry  was  undeniable. 

"  A  terrible  affair,  Captain,  that  explosion  at  Little 
York,"  said  he. 

"It  was,"  I  assented,  somewhat  brusquely,  in 
spite  of  myself.  He  looked  at  me  curiously,  compre- 
hensively. 

"There  is  no  need,  Captain,  for  further  rivalry 
between  us,"  he  remarked  dryly,  with  a  bitter  smile. 

"Sir,  what  do  you  mean?  Explain  yourself!"  I 
demanded,  when  I  had  regained  my  breath. 

"  When  men  are  interested  in  the  same  woman,"  he 
responded,  with  a  certain  dignity,  "each  may  un- 
erringly pick  his  rivals.  One  may  know  even  if  the 
other  be  unassertive  and  dumb.  It  is  an  instinct." 


A  LEAF  FROM  THE    PAST  237 

"True,"  I  muttered,  reflecting  that  I  had  picked 
him  as  one  upon  the  evening  of  his  introduction  to 
her,  though  in  him  was  no  lack  of  assertion.  "  But 
to  what  purpose  is  the  homily?" 

"Simply  that  I  am  no  longer  a  rival,"  he  an- 
swered. "I  am  more  candid  than  most.  You  may 
consider  me  bizarre.  But  I  thought  you  might  be 
interested  to  know  that  Mademoiselle  De  Montefort, 
just  before  we  sailed,  gave  me  my  conge.  I  could 
have  expected  no  more,"  he  added,  with  a  mirthless 
smile.  "  She  was  merely  my  friend,  and  the  episode 
/to  which  I  have  referred,  for  which  my  impetuosity 
was  responsible,  troubled  her.  And  now,  Warburton," 
extending  his  hand,  "I  wish  you  better  luck." 

I  shook  his  hand  warmly.  I  liked  him,  this  gallant 
young  fellow,  whose  keen  eye,  because  turned  in  the 
same  quarter,  had  divined  my  secret.  I  wished  him 
well — elsewhere,  for  we  are  but  human.  He  walked 
away. 

The  wind  in  the  rigging  was  blithe,  the  sun  smiled 
more  widely  and  there  was  exhilaration  in  the  rush 
of  the  boat,  like  a  live  thing,  through  the  surges. 
I  smoked  steadily  and  saw  rosy  visions  in  the  waver- 
ing blue  clouds.  I  was  sorry  for  Whiting,  whom  I 
could  now  appreciate.  I  doubtless  invested  him,  in 
my  sudden  glow  of  gratitude,  with  even  more  virtues 
than  he  possessed. 

There  was  a  step  near  me,  a  great  form  hung  over 
the  rail  at  my  side.  John  smoked  silently,  gazing 
at  the  glory  of  the  perfect  day  with  abstracted  eyes. 
Since  the  terrible  explosion  of  the  magazine,  when  he 
had  in  a  measure  revealed  the  identity  of  the  fiend 
who  had  wrought  the  havoc,  he  had  not  spoken 
further  of  the  matter.  Needless  to  say,  I  had 
respected  his  silence. 


238  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

Suddenly  he  spoke,  still  gazing  over  at  the  long, 
green  swells.  "  I  wonder  if  he  is  dead,"  he  muttered. 

There  was  no  need  to  ask  whom  he  meant.    I  knew. 

"I  do  not  see  how  he  could  have  escaped,"  I  ob- 
served. "  Men  died  who  were  thrice  as  far  away." 

"True,"  he  replied  bitterly,  "but  the  devil  pro- 
tects his  own.  Gilbert,"  he  suddenly  exclaimed, 
'  'I  am  going  to  tell  you  of  myself,  more  than  any 
living  man  in  the  country  yonder,"  pointing  to  the 
southward,  "knows  of  John  Godfrey.  I  need  not 
ask  you  to  regard  the  confidence  as  sacred."  I 
bowed. 

He  bent  his  black  eyes,  that  were  so  incongruous 
in  the  face  of  an  Englishman,  upon  me. 

"John  Godfrey  is  but  a  creature  of  circumstance," 
he  said.  "A  man  may  be  born  again.  You  under- 
stand. Well,  I  found  it  convenient  to  be  born  again, 
as  I  fully  believed  then,  to  be  enabled  to  live  out 
my  life  to  its  allotted  span." 

This  much  I  had  gathered  from  the  beginning. 
The  scene  between  Red  Rolfe  and  my  friend  at  their 
encounter  in  the  forest  enlightened  me. 

"My  father  is  an  Englishman,  and,  in  fact,  is  in 
the  king's  service,"  continued  John.  "As  for  me,  I 
have  drunk  in  liberty  in  the  air  of  this  country. 
While  my  parent's  resources  are  ample,  he  has  pre- 
ferred from  the  beginning  an  active  military  career. 
My  mother  was  a  Frenchwoman.  She  died  when  I 
was  too  young  to  remember."  His  eyes  and  swarthy 
skin,  together  with  certain  characteristics,  were 
explained  to  me.  He  continued. 

"My  father,  in  his  youth,  was  a  fool.  Like  the 
majority,  of  course,  but  his  foolishness  took  a  more 
serious  form  than  it  does  with  most,  for  that  fiend 
whom  we  both  hope  dead  yonder  is  or  was  my 


A  LEAF  FROM  THE  PAST  239 

father's  natural  son.  You  have  noted  that  voice  of 
his.  It  is  an  inheritance.  His  mother  was  a  London 
concert  hall  singer,  famed  equally  for  a  wonderful  con- 
tralto, a  rich  animal  beauty  and  general  deviltry." 
Disgust  contorted  his  face. 

I  grasped  his  hand  impulsively.  "Your  half- 
brother!"  I  exclaimed.  "I  knew  you  could  not  have 
had  the  same  mother." 

"Thanks,"  he  rejoined,  smiling  grimly.  "I  am  my- 
self a  believer  in  the  preponderating  maternal 
influence  upon  offspring.  My  brother,"  with  inde- 
scribable sarcasm,"has  all  the  characteristics  which 
distinguished  his  mother,  save  in  physical  attractions, 
and  not  one  of  the  traits  that  assist  in  the  needed 
redemption  of  his  father. 

"The  miserable  intrigue,"  he  continued,  "occurred 
in  France,  where  the  family  was  temporarily  living. 
My  father  brought  his  mistress  from  London  to 
Paris,  and  spent  most  of  his  time  there.  The  gentle- 
man whom  you  know  as  Red  Rolfe  was  the  charming 
outcome  of  that  association.  Through  mischance, 
the  whole  affair  came  to  the  knowledge  of  my  mother, 
though  her  husband  had  naturally  tried  to  conceal 
the  shameful  course  he  had  been  pursuing  by  various 
subterfuges.  She  was  in  delicate  health  and  the  shock 
killed  her.  When  she  was  dead  the  mother  of  my 
brother,  deeply  enamored  of  my  father,  aspired  to 
her  place.  My  father  was  mad  with  grief,  a  privilege 
of  sinners,  though  so  often  unavailing.  He  turned 
the  creature  harshly  away.  She  loved  him  in  her 
bestial  way,  and  that  night  she  served  God  and  man- 
kind in  general  by  poisoning  herself. 

"My  father,  like  most  fools,  possessed  a  certain 
belated  conscientiousness,  and,  inasmuch  as  the  living 
infant  was  his  folly,  he  conceived  it  to  be  his  duty  to 


24o  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

educate  him.  We  were  brought  up  together,"  with 
a  shrug.  "We  went  to  school  together,  afterward 
entering  college  in  company.  I  was  rather  wild;  it  was 
in  my  blood  I  suppose.  I  made  no  special  effort  to 
conceal  it  and  fell  in  my  father's  good  graces.  He, 
since  the  nauseating  result  of  his  own  wrongdoing, 
had  become  a  Puritan  personified.  The  wretch,  who 
should  be  dead,  but  probably  is  not,  was  ten  times 
worse  than  I,  but  he  was  crafty  and  concealed  it. 
It  seems  incredible  now,  but  his  ugly  face  used  to  be 
as  smug  as  a  preacher's. 

"When  we  had  done  with  college  we  went  home  to 
my  father's  manor.  It  was  my  intention  to  enter 
the  military  service.  My  father  was  home  on  leave 
from  wounds  received  in  foreign  service.  My 
brother  and  I  always  hated  each  other.  I  despised 
him  and  he  knew  it.  I  did  not,  however,  know  of 
his  true  origin  till  long  afterward. 

"Things  went  from  bad  to  worse.  I  had  been  reck- 
less, to  the  disapproval  of  my  father,  and  his  attitude 
toward  me  did  not  help  matters.  Moreover,  friend 
Rolfe  wore  the  mask  in  those  days,  Gilbert,  and  he 
most  effectually  cozened  my  father  and  fostered  his 
animosity  toward  me.  I  have  never  to  this  day  been 
able  to  clearly  understand  how  my  parent,  who  is  a 
man  of  superior  intelligence,  could  have  permitted 
himself  to  have  been  so  gulled.  As  for  me,  I  scorned 
to  say  anything  in  my  own  defence  or  to  expose  the 
real  character  of  my  brother,  who  knew  I  would  not, 
and  presumed  upon  the  fact.  My  father  had  eyes,  I 
reasoned.  If  they  could  not  see  what  to  me  was 
so  transparent,  I  was  too  disgusted  to  enlighten 
them. 

"One  morning  my  father  missed  a  large  sum  of 
money.  Some  of  the  servants  were  suspected,  when, 


A  LEAF  FROM  THE  PAST  241 

while  we  were  in  the  library  with  my  father,  my 
brother  suddenly  turned  on  me  and  accused  me  of 
the  theft.  I  denied  it  with  an  oath.  He  led  the  way 
to  my  room,  Gilbert,  and  took  the  money  from  my 
wardrobe,  while  my  father  looked  on  in  dismay. 
You  can  readily  grasp  the  scheme.  It  seemed  so 
childishly  transparent  to  me  that  I  turned  to  my 
father  with  a  laugh,  thinking  that  now  the  veil  must 
be  rent  from  his  eyes.  I  looked  at  him,  and  in  the 
glance  I  read  unquestioning  belief  in  my  guilt  in  his 
face. 

"I  think  the  devil  then  got  into  me.  I  could  never 
remember  clearly  what  happened,  but  I  fully  believed 
when  my  senses  returned  to  me  that  Rolfe  was  dead. 
I  believed  it  for  years  afterward. 

"I  escaped  from  the  house,  tearing  away  from  those 
who  tried  to  hold  me.  I  made  my  way  to  Liverpool, 
eluding  pursuit,  and  was  lucky  enough  to  get  aboard 
a  ship  sailing  for  the  States.  I  have  been  here  since. 
I  have  imbibed  the  spirit  of  your  land,  the  spirit  as 
I  believe  of  broadest  liberty,  in  the  free  air  of  your 
forests.  That  is  why  I  bear  arms  with  you  to-day. 
I  accidentally  learned  of  my  brother's  true  origin  years 
ago  in  Canada. 

"For  years  I  thought  myself  a  fratricide.  I  was 
trapping  far  up  in  the  wilds  of  Canada  on  one  occa- 
sion, some  years  ago,  when  I  heard  screams  of  agony 
hard  by.  I  hurried  to  the  spot  with  my  hound  and 
found  my  precious  brother  and  some  of  his  redskins 
torturing  the  poor  old  miser  you  met,  in  the  hope 
of  securing  his  funds.  He  was  as  you  see  him  now, 
Gilbert,  the  smug  mask  gone  forever.  His  inevitable 
blood  had  shown.  My  father  had  found  him  out  and 
cast  him  forth  some  time  previously.  Well,  as  you 
know,  I  broke  up  that  little  meeting  and  helped  the 


ftiSAOENA  HOSPITAL  ASSOCIAT^ 


242  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

old  fool  of  a  miser  to  a  safer  locality.  I  had  heard 
of  Red  Rolfe,  now  I  knew  who  he  was." 

I  nodded,  warm  with  comfortable  memories  of  the 
miser's  graphic  tale;  gloating  mentally  over  a  con- 
jured vision  of  evil  eyes  shut  tight  as  a  new-born 
kitten's,  of  a  wicked  face  battered  to  a  pulp  with 
righteous  blows. 

"My  brother's  real  name  is  Geoffrey,  while  mine  is 
Gerald,"  John  told  me,  looking  at  me  oddly,  "but  I 
am  John  Godfrey  to  you  and  others  till  the  end. 
I  have  done  with  the  old  name.  As  for  my  father, 
unless  he  be  at  Montreal,  I  suppose  he  is  even  now 
in  Frontenac." 

"Perhaps  I  have  met  him,"  I  exclaimed. 

"No,"  he  replied  quietly,  "but  you  have  heard  his 
name  a  thousand  times  this  past  winter.  Renee  is 
never  tired  of  talking  about  him." 

I  started.    "You  mean "  I  began. 

He  smiled.  "That  he  is  Renee's  good  angel,  her 
friend  in  need,  Major  Basil  Aberdeen,"  he  supplied. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
The  Woe  from  Frontenac 

"Woe  !"  shrilled  the  crone,  a  shrivelled  claw  extended, 
a  lurid  madness  in  the  bleared  eyes.  "  What  did  I  tell 
ye,  merry  gentlemen,  long  months  gone?"  She 
chuckled.  "  The  woe  from  Frontenac  !  Red  woe,  red 
blood,  all  red — red!"  Her  cracked  crackle  sounded 
horribly  inhuman. 

"You  have  had  a  bad  nightmare,  Mother  Corp," 
said  John.  "  Indeed,  you  have  it  yet.  What  is  your 
disturbing  dream?" 

We  were  on  the  bluff,  John  and  I,  enjoying  the 
fresh  morning  air.  The  old  vagrant  stood  before 
us,  gray  locks  wildly  straggling,  withered  features 
working  strangely,  red  cloak  flapping  in  the  breeze; 
a  realization,  in  the  unlovely  flesh,  of  one  of  Mac- 
beth's  witches. 

"  Dream  !"  she  cried.  "  If  I  dream,  merry  gentlemen, 
look  yonder  and  dream  too  !"  And  she  pointed  down 
the  bay.  We  turned  our  eyes  in  that  direction,  the 
crone  mumbling  crazily  to  herself,  watching  us  with 
malicious  eyes. 

The  calm  of  the  fair  May  morning  was  broken. 
The  boom  of  a  single  gun  rumbled  in  the  bay,  fol- 
lowed by  echoing  alarms.  Everywhere  men  sprang 
up  electrified,  gazing  out  upon  the  wide  water.  Far 
away  a  little  schooner  was  flying  under  full  sail  toward 
the  town.  As  we  gazed,  there  came  a  puff  of  white 


244    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

smoke  and  the  roar  of  a  second  detonation  sounded 
from  the  alarm  gun  upon  her  deck. 

Others  of  the  town's  defenders,  together  with  women 
and  children,  all  wildly  excited,  came  rushing  from 
the  huddle  of  houses  to  the  plateau,  watching  the 
approach  of  the  little  Lady  of  the  Lake  with  painful 
anxiety.  With  a  single  impulse,  as  the  rushing 
schooner  rapidly  neared  the  harbor,  with  signal  gun 
still  bellowing  at  intervals,  the  throng,  agitated  like 
a  field  of  grain  in  the  sweep  of  a  mighty  wind,  hur- 
ried with  disconnected  queries  and  strange  fears  to 
the  shipyards. 

The  Lady  of  the  Lake  glided  into  the  harbor,  and, 
tacking,  came  swiftly  to  the  docks.  "  Send  expresses 
and  alarm  the  country!"  shouted  her  commander 
from  the  deck.  "Yeo's  fleet  is  coming!" 

It  was  enough.  For  days  the  Lady  had  been  cruis- 
ing about  with  feminine  inquisitiveness,  her  crew 
scanning  the  horizon  for  the  sail  that  all  feared 
would  come  from  Frontenac.  It  had  been  three  days 
since  the  returning  schooners  had  providentially 
brought  the  reserve  from  Niagara  to  the  Harbor. 
We  had  arrived  to  find  the  poeple  keyed  up  to  high 
excitement  and  dread.  They  welcomed  our  return 
with  relief,  for,  with  the  total  force  that  could  even 
now  be  mustered,  it  was  but  a  forlorn  defense  that 
the  hamlet  could  offer.  And  now,  as  had  been  justly 
feared,  Sir  George  Provost,  maddened  by  the  success- 
ful sortie  against  Little  York,  had  come  to  take 
revenge.  Menace,  a  few  miles  out,  lay  cradled  on  the 
face  of  the  deep. 

In  our  shipyards,  still  upon  the  ways,  rested  for- 
midable brigs  that  were  unfinished.  These,  un- 
doubtedly, were  to  be  burned.  Filled  storehouses  were 
to  be  rifled.  It  was  a  pretty  plan,  and  a  defending 


THE  WOE  FROM  FRONTENAC          245 

force  far  inferior  to  Provost's  at  Little  York,  both 
in  numbers  and  in  military  experience,  intervened 
between  the  end  and  its  accomplishment. 

Now  to  strained  eyes,  aching  with  tortured  sus- 
pense, gazing  outward  from  the  long,  salient  bluff, 
appeared  the  ships,  still  quite  small  on  the  horizon, 
white  dots  that  studded  the  lake  out  by  the 
shadowed  bulk  of  Stony  Island.  They  were  approach- 
ing leisurely. 

In  the  mean  time,  hurried  haste  marked  preparations 
in  the  village.  Colonel  Backus,  who  was  in  charge, 
despatched  mounted  expresses  to  all  the  adjacent 
settlements  to  summon  the  available  militia.  One  he 
sent  galloping  to  the  home  of  General  Brown,  eight 
miles  distant.  The  general,  at  the  close  of  his  six 
months'  term  some  time  previously,  had  retired  to 
his  farm,  in  deep  disgust  at  the  dilatory  policy  of 
the  government  and  the  timorous  inefficiency  of  cer- 
tain military  weaklings  who  commanded  its  armies. 
With  the  approach  of  the  peril,  however,  the  great 
heart  and  soul  of  him  blazed  with  the  ardor  of  that 
chivalry  which  ultimately  secured  for  him  the  tardy 
recognition  which  resulted,  ere  his  death,  in  giving 
him  the  supreme  command  of  the  armies  of  the 
nation. 

No  sooner  did  he  hear  of  the  danger  than  he  sprang 
upon  his  horse,  riding  like  mad  for  the  Harbor. 
Soon  the  thundering  hoofbeats  of  the  powerful  animal 
he  bestrode  sounded  in  the  village  street.  The  poor 
brute  staggered  as  the  general  swung  to  the  ground. 
The  quivering  flanks  dripped  with  sweat;  patches  of 
foam  fell,  mingling  with  the  gray  dust  of  the  road- 
way. 

With  the  arrival  of  the  intrepid  chief,  confidence, 
which  had  flickered,  revived,  again  burning  bravely. 


246  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

With  the  grasp  that  marks  the  born  leader,  the 
general  set  about  making  his  preparations  and 
giving  directions  as  coolly  as  if  inspecting  an  ordi- 
nary drill.  And  all  through  the  day  detachments 
of  militia  poured  in,  some  afoot,  grimy  with  dust, 
others  bouncing  dismally  on  the  broad  backs  of 
staid  farmhorses.  There  was  the  swing  of  con- 
certed action  under  a  master  hand;  the  threatening 
stir  of  a  sullen  wind  before  the  breaking  of  the 
storm. 

In  the  interim,  the  British  fleet  had  leisurely  ap- 
proached to  within  easy  distance  of  the  town  and 
deliberately  lay-to.  I  have  always  believed  that 
Provost  and  Yeo,  who  accompanied  this  expedition, 
again  thought  of  themselves,  as  they  had  before,  in 
the  light  of  cats  playing  with  a  helpless  mouse,  the 
slaughter  of  which  rodent  was  to  be  prolonged  by 
the  cruel  felines  for  their  edification.  The  careless 
manner  in  which  they  allowed  us  to  make  all  prep- 
arations would  tend  to  confirm  what  was  told  after 
the  battle,  which  was  that  the  enemy  understood 
that  all  the  regulars  and  all  but  two  companies  of 
the  militia  were  with  Dearborn  and  Chauncey.  How- 
ever this  may  have  been,  it  was  quite  evident  that 
they  considered  the  taking  of  the  town  a  holiday 
and  did  not  know  of  the  troops  Dearborn  had  sent 
back.  They  wasted  precious  time  in  which,  unready 
as  we  were,  they  might  have  given  us  short  shift. 
Instead  of  paying  us  speedy  attention,  they  em- 
ployed their  entire  fleet  to  chase  a  number  of  Amer- 
ican barges  that  had  come  in  sight  from  Oswego. 
Twelve  of  these  they  caught,  but  small  comfort  it 
gave  them,  as  the  crews  got  away  and  escaped  to 
the  woods,  the  majority  afterward  joining  us.  Seven 
of  the  barges,  by  clever  dodging,  outsailed  the  British 


THE  WOE  FROM  FRONTENAC          247 

boats  and  got  into  port.  Most  opportunely,  we  found 
them  to  contain  a  portion  of  a  regiment  of  infantry, 
under  Colonel  Aspinwall,  on  the  way  from  Oswego 
to  our  beleaguered  hamlet.  They  had  not  discovered 
the  enemy  till  he  was  doubling  Sixtown  Point,  then 
it  was  a  stern  chase  and  a  race.  Their  comrades, 
who  had  been  forced  ashore  to  the  woods,  arrived 
late  that  evening,  increasing  our  defending  force. 

Following  their  dash  for  the  barges,  the  enemy's 
ships  lay  lazily  in  an  increasing  calm  far  out  in  the 
lake.  There  were  the  brigs  Royal  George,  Wolfe  and 
Earl  of  Moira,  two  gunboats  and  three  schooners, 
all  heavily  armed.  There  were  also  forty  barges, 
carrying  twelve  hundred  men  as  a  storming  party. 
The  fleet  was  manned  with  the  king's  best  gunners, 
who  were  supposed  to  be  shelling  us  while  we  were 
being  taken  by  the  storming  party.  No  hurry  was 
shown  and  it  was  apparent  that  the  enemy  would 
considerately  allow  us  to  get  ready  for  him  before 
he  should  graciously  deign  to  fall  upon  and  crush 
us  the  next  morning.  Therefore,  we  lost  no  time. 

The  militia  from  Watertown  and  other  settlements 
arrived  steadily  during  the  day.  As  fast  as  they 
came  they  were  armed  and  sent  to  Horse  Island, 
where  the  enemy  was  expected  to  land.  There  were 
six  hundred  of  these  militia,  mostly  raw,  undisciplined 
and  sans  experience.  There  were  also  about  four 
hundred  regulars  against  the  twelve  hundred  odd  of 
the  king's  men.  For  at  this  time  it  was  regular 
versus  regular.  One  could  not  depend  upon  the  un- 
trained militia,  though  there  were  some  glorious 
exceptions  during  the  war. 

Horse  Island,  which  was  then  heavily  wooded, 
lay  an  easy  distance  out  into  the  lake  from  the 
further  end  of  the  long  bluff.  It  was  connected  with 


248  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

the  mainland  by  a  sand  bar  that  was  at  that  time 
nearly  dry.  The  beach  opposite  afforded  a  natural 
breastwork  in  the  shape  of  a  ridge  of  gravel  five  feet 
high.  Further  south,  along  the  shore,  stretched  a 
strip  of  woods  which  had  been  obstructed  as  much 
as  possible  with  a  rude  abattis  of  felled  trees. 

General  Brown,  tireless  and  watchful,  spent  the 
entire  night  in  -perfecting  the  plan  of  defense.  The 
batteries  along  the  cliff  were  hastily  unlimb.ered, 
plenty  of  ammunition  being  ready  to  hand,  for,  if  the 
opposing  fleet  desired  to  co-operate  with  the  infantry, 
the  ships  would  require  a  favoring  wind  and  would 
have  to  pass  directly  within  range  of  our  guns. 
About  four  hundred  militia,  with  six  pounders,  under 
Colonel  Mills  of  the  Albany  Volunteers,  were  sta- 
tioned near  the  shore,  opposite  Horse  Island,  with 
orders  to  reserve  their  fire  till  the  enemy  should  come 
within  pistol  shot.  The  remainder  of  the  militia, 
under  Colonel  Gresham  Tuttle,  were  on  the  edge  of 
the  woods  back  of  a  clearing,  and  Colonel  Backus, 
with  his  dismounted  dragoons,  was  stationed  in  the 
woods  that  skirted  the  town,  with  orders  to  advance 
toward  Horse  Island  as  soon  as  the  enemy  landed 
there.  Colonel  Aspinwall,  with  his  Oswego  regulars, 
was  posted  to  the  left  of  Backus,  and  the  artillery- 
men, under  Lieutenant  Ketcham,  were  stationed  on 
the  low,  outlying  work  of  Fort  Tompkins,  whose 
sole  armament  consisted  of  a  thirty -two  pounder  on 
a  pivot.  Other  forts  there  were,  but  with  no  avail- 
able force  to  occupy  them.  The  militia  on  the  shore 
were  instructed,  if  driven  from  their  position,  to  fall 
back  and  annoy  the  right  flank  of  the  enemy  as  he 
advanced  toward  the  town.  Colonel  Tuttle  was 
directed,  in  the  same  event,  to  attack  their  rear  and 
destroy  their  boats. 


THE  WOE  FROM  FRONTENAC          249 

The  enemy  made  no  move  during  the  night  save 
to  land  a  party  of  savages  on  the  Henderson  shore, 
as  a  messenger  from  that  town  arrived  to  inform  us 
the  succeeding  morning,  breathless  and  hot  with 
haste.  It  was  evidently  intended  to  creep  up  and 
take  the  militiamen  in  the  rear.  General  Brown 
warned  the  men  to  look  out  for  such  an  ambush 
and  posted  pickets  to  that  end.  John  and  I  looked 
at  each  other  with  uneasiness.  We  both  thought  of 
a  supposed  corpse  which  might  after  all,  through 
the  grace  of  its  master,  the  devil,  be  still  quickened. 

"The  providence  of  God  has  not  deserted  us," 
said  my  father  the  next  morning.  For  the  morning 
of  May  the  twenty -ninth,  1813,  was  one  without  a 
breath.  Not  the  whisper  of  a  breeze  stirred  the  pulse 
of  the  dead  lake  which  lay,  like  a  still  mill  pond,  in 
shadowed  silence.  It  was  weird,  it  was  uncanny, 
this  intense  calm,  lending  the  sheen  of  a  great  mirror 
to  the  sweep  of  waters  that  were  wont  to  be  always 
heaving  under  the  beating  wings  of  warring  winds. 
There  was  a  startling  clarity  in  the  atmosphere. 
The  king's  ships,  lying  motionless,  far  off  on  the 
still  waters,  stood  out  against  the  arching  sky  clear 
cut  as  cameos.  They  would  be  unable  to  assist  the 
soldiery,  lying  helpless  as  they  were,  too  far  away 
for  gun  fire. 

"It  is  as  if  the  Voice  had  spoken,  'Peace,  be  still f 
and  the  calm  descended  for  our  deliverance,"  said 
Renee,  standing  with  Dorothy  in  the  doorway,  as  I 
bade  them  be  of  good  cheer  and  hastened  to  quarters. 
Those  left  in  the  little  household  remained  heroically 
calm,  as  once  before,  confidently  awaiting  the  issue. 

Had  the  fleet  been  able  to  lend  assistance  to  the 
regulars  that  day,  our  undoing  must  have  been  in- 
evitable. But  that  great  calm  brooded  and  the  winds 


250  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

slept  on,  only  awakening  when  the  puffs  of  a  breeze 
from  the  southward  smote  the  spread  sails  and  the 
king's  ships,  laden  with  a  beaten  enemy,  pointed 
their  prows  reluctantly  toward  Frontenac,  while 
hoarse  cheers  arose  from  the  bluff  beyond,  and,  from 
its  brink,  the  growl  of  the  shore  batteries  rolled 
across  the  rippling  bay  that  lay,  touched  with  red 
and  gold,  in  the  dying  glory  of  the  sunset. 

With  the  gray  dawn  we  beheld  a  cloud  of  boats, 
crowded  with  troops,  putting  off  from  the  ships  that 
lay  supine  on  the  glassy  surface  of  the  slumbering 
lake.  They  made  for  Horse  Island,  from  which 
General  Brown  had  recalled  during  the  night  the 
detachments  of  militia  originally  posted  there,  think- 
ing it  better  to  make  a  concerted  stand  on  the  main- 
land. The  boats  grounded  and  the  redcoats,  landing, 
formed  without  molestation.  Soon  the  red  line 
began  the  march,  in  an  intense,  strained  silence, 
across  the  bar  to  the  mainland. 

So  still  was  the  air,  even  the  usual  stirrings  of 
nature  being  hushed,  that  the  sharp  commands  of 
the  distant  officers  were  distinctly  audible.  As  the 
column  started  from  the  island  even  these  ceased. 
So  they  came  on,  in  an  appalling  silence,  while  the 
defenders  on  the  shore  held  their  fire.  When  they 
were  almost  upon  us  the  word  was  given  and  a  vol- 
ley rang  out  with  startling  effect  in  the  stillness. 
Gaps  appeared  in  the  red  line,  but  they  closed 
up  and  the  troops  rushed  on,  now  at  a  double  quick. 
A  moment  later  the  thirty-two  pounder  roared  out, 
hurling  death  into  the  ranks  that  it  seemed  as  if 
nothing  could  stop. 

Never  before  or  since,  in  the  recollection  of  those 
of  us  who  lived  that  day,  has  the  atmosphere  of  this 
region  possessed  the  weird  qualities  which  it  held  that 


THE  WOE  FROM  FRONTENAC  251 

morning.  The  air,  so  strangely  still  before  the  ap- 
proach of  this  leaden  storm,  was  an  immense  sound- 
ing board.  The  singular  calm  extended  for  miles, 
so  that  upon  the  crests  of  heaven-kissing  hills  as  in 
the  dipping  valleys,  not  a  leaf  stirred,  all  nature 
seeming  to  listen  for  the  thunder  of  the  cannonade. 
To  this  day  the  old  men  tell  the  wondering  young- 
sters who  surround  them  how  the  rattle  of  the  mus- 
ketry was  heard  upon  the  Rutland  hills,  twenty 
miles  away,  and  how  the  booming  of  the  batteries 
growled  in  faint  reverberations,  echoing  among  the 
wooded  Adirondack  foothills  of  Lewis  county,  distant 
nigh  fifty  miles. 

The  enemy,  unfaltering  in  the  face  of  the  leaden 
storm,  advanced,  as  if  on  dress  parade,  up  to  the 
ridge  of  sand.  A  moment  more,  and  they  halted, 
pouring  in  a  volley.  A  breath  of  time  and  another 
came.  Our  raw  militia,  unused  to  carnage,  wavered. 
There  was  a  terrifying  hum  in  the  bullets  that  cut 
the  foliage  about  them  and  found  occasional  lodge- 
ment in  the  breast  of  a  comrade.  There  was  an 
added  terror  in  the  red  column  which  now  plunged 
forward  toward  them  behind  a  grim  hedge  of  bristling 
bayonets.  It  was  too  awful.  The  militiamen,  un- 
nerved, yelling  as  if  in  the  grip  of  some  horrific  night- 
mare, turned  and  fled  incontinently  toward  the  town. 

John  and  I,  who  had  been  posted  with  our  com- 
mands with  the  others,  found  the  most  of  them 
fleeing  in  the  wake  of  the  rest.  Everywhere  officers 
were  pleading,  cursing  and  threatening  the  men  who 
ran  in  a  mad  rabble.  I  can  remember  shouting 
till  I  was  hoarse,  hurling  myself  against  the  rush- 
ing throng  in  a  wild  effort  to  stop  it  and  being 
borne  back  by  it  like  a  bit  of  wreckage  in  an  angry 
sea.  And  near  at  hand  was  John,  laying  about  him 


252  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

with  flail-like  arms,  his  dark,  bearded  face  drawn 
with  rage,  black  eyes  blazing.  Like  a  Colossus  the 
giant  stood,  the  human  tide  breaking  against  him 
as  if  he  had  been  an  unyielding  rock.  He  seized  the 
collar  of  a  flying  wretch  in  one  mighty  hand,  hurling 
him  shrieking  back  toward  the  advancing  redcoats, 
while  the  other  fist,  shaking  in  air,  suddenly  shot  out, 
stopping  the  progress  of  another  fugitive  with  a 
thumping  blow  that  stretched  him  quivering  on  the 
sod.  He  was  Thor  materialized,  a  gigantic,  impelling 
force ;  the  acme  of  savage,  unloosed  power,  of  might 
unleashed. 

But  this  could  not  continue.  Nothing  earthly  could 
stop  that  panic-stricken  rout.  John  and  I,  with  a 
huddle  of  others  who  had  stood  with  us,  were  pres- 
ently alone,  the  redcoats  nearly  upon  us.  A  volley 
came  from  the  thick  woods  to  our  left.  The  figure  of 
an  officer  in  our  uniform  was  discernible. 

"Captain  McNitt !"  shouted  John.  "Make  for  him, 
men !  Thank  God  we're  not  all  curs ! "  And  we 
sprinted  for  the  woods,  just  in  time.  The  two  ser- 
geants, Cyrenus  and  Noadiah,  to  whom  this  day's  work 
was  to  bring  future  advancement,  ran  with  us,  after 
them  Abner  Holcomb,  whose  stoical  calm  in  the  face 
of  danger  was  destined  also  to  win  recognition. 
Abner  was  proceeding  in  philosophic  indifference  to 
all  danger.  Cyrenus  shook  his  lean  fist  at  the  flying 
militiamen,  now  far  ahead,  and  swore  like  a  lost 
soul.  Upon  the  fat  face  of  Noadiah,  which  flopped 
painfully  as  he  lumbered  on,  there  reposed  agitatedly 
a  righteous  scorn  at  the  flight  of  the  frightened.  He 
was  running  from  policy,  not  fear.  He  was  of  the 
vintage  of  the  Revolution.  As  for  Abner,  the  in- 
evitable, whatever  transpired,  was  inevitable.  That 
was  all. 


THE  WOE  FROM  FRONTENAC  253 

We  gained  the  woods  without  mishap,  joining  Mc- 
Nitt's  command,  which  had  been  placed  on  the  ex- 
treme left  of  the  flanking  party  of  the  militia.  He 
and  his  gallant  men  had  forborne  to  run  with  the 
others,  but  continued  instead  to  fire.  The  men  were 
encouraged  in  standing  their  ground  by  the  presence 
of  General  Brown,  who,  in  the  midst  of  the  disaster, 
was  imperturbable.  He  calmly  directed  us  to  retire 
to  the  town  as  the  enemy  advanced  through  the 
woods,  annoying  them  with  our  fire  as  much  as  possi- 
ble. This  we  did,  and  a  constant  exchange  of  shots 
was  maintained  without,  however,  much  damage  to 
either  side,  owing  to  the  undergrowth. 

Colonel  Backus  had  obeyed  instructions,  soon  en- 
countering the  enemy  he  had  marched  forward  to 
meet  and  hindering  the  progress  of  the  redcoats  to  a 
considerable  extent.  Backus'  regiment,  composed  of 
men  as  experienced  as  the  king's  own,  retired  slowly 
before  their  foes  through  the  half-cleared  woods 
toward  the  town,  pouring  in  galling  volleys. 

By  this  time  General  Brown,  summoning  John  and 
I  with  the  few  of  our  companies  that  remained  to 
us,  had  left  Captain  McNitt's  company  for  the  pur- 
pose of  hurrying  ahead  to  try  to  rally  some  of  the 
scattered  militia.  Upon  gaining  the  clearing  next  the 
village  we  were  struck  with  consternation  to  see 
flame  and  smoke  enwrapping  the  storehouses  that 
contained  the  spoils  of  Little  York.  With  an  excla- 
mation, General  Brown  hurried  to  the  spot,  we  after 
him.  We  feared  that  a  detachment  of  the  enemy  had 
gained  the  rear.  Arrived  there,  we  found  that  the 
destruction  was  due  to  a  blunder  of  our  own  side. 
The  panic  of  the  militia  had  spread  like  a  pestilence 
to  those  in  charge  at  the  town  and  Lieutenant  Chaun- 
cey  had  ordered  the  storehouses  to  be  fired,  which 


254  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

was  as  it  should  have  been  if  the  scampering  fools 
had  not  lied. 

Ah,  those  militiamen !  Though  I  sit  to-day  with 
the  frost  in  my  hair  and  the  wrinkles  in  my  cheeks, 
the  curse  in  my  heart  is  as  hearty  and  young  for 
their  cowardice  as  it  was  that  morning,  when  I 
clenched  my  two  fists  and  swore  as  best  I  knew  how 
as  I  beheld  a  half  million  in  stores  go  up  in  writhing 
flames.  I  saw  men  laboring  to  save  the  brig  Pike, 
which  had  been  fired  upon  the  stocks,  when  we  had 
shouted  that  the  militiamen  were  liars  and  cowards, 
that  the  day  might  yet  be  won.  I  saw  the  prize 
schooner,  Duke  of  Gloucester,  smoking  to  her  doom, 
and,  as  I  watched,  I  saw  also  the  gallant  lieutenants, 
Tallman  and  Whiting,  board  her  and  extinguish  the 
blaze  that  was  eating  its  way  to  her  fearsome  cargo 
of  gunpowder.  And  this  while  the  militia  ran,  ran 
like  dogs  with  lolling  tongues,  bellowing  like  mad 
bulls  through  the  village  and  into  the  woods  beyond, 
not  to  stop  till  they  should  be  safe  at  their  homes, 
with  their  women  folk  to  comfort  them.  One  indeed— 
and  the  tale  will  be  tradition's  heritage  for  genera- 
tions—romped o'er  hill  and  dale  for  twenty  miles,  to 
finally  fall  utterly  exhausted,  panting  like  a  spent 
hound,  on  the  crest  of  Rutland's  highest  hill.  And 
though  with  shame  for  my  countrymen  I  own  it,  if 
tradition  should  one  day  tell  of  a  new  Wandering 
Jew,  one  who  ran  rather  than  walked  his  weary, 
endless  round,  I  should  verily  believe  him  to  be  one 
of  those  militiamen. 

It  has  been  said  that  if  you  kill  off  all  the  of- 
ficers of  an  American  regiment  of  regulars,  a 
drummer  boy  shall  lead  them  and  they  will  follow 
him  to  victory  or  death.  It  is  also  said  that 
if  you  rob  a  British  column  of  its  head  it  is  a  flock 


THE  WOE  FROM  FRONTENAC          255 

without  a  shepherd  and  the  sheep  disperse.  These 
facts  were  strikingly  attested  on  this  memorable 
morning. 

General  Brown,  relieved  in  a  measure  to  find  the 
enemy  still  all  on  one  side,  hurried  to  try  and  rally 
some  of  the  militia,  who  had  repented  of  their  haste 
and  were  returning  at  leisure,  shamefaced  and  anxious 
to  make  amends.  John  and  I,  together  with  Cyrenus 
and  Noadiah,  with  Abner  at  their  heels,  secured  a 
handful  and  hurried  to  do  what  we  could  to  help 
Backus,  who  had  fallen  back  to  the  clearing,  the 
enemy  still  advancing.  A  moment  after  our  arrival 
the  brave  colonel  fell,  mortally  wounded.  The  regi- 
ment betrayed  no  agitation,  but  slowly  retiring, 
inch  by  inch,  entered  some  log  barracks  in  the  clear- 
ing from  which  they  discharged  a  volley  with  terrible 
effect.  All  this  while  the  ships,  far  out,  were  discharg- 
ing their  guns  at  intervals  and  the  batteries  on  the 
bluff  were  returning  the  fire.  But  the  distance  was 
too  great  and  no  harm  resulted  to  either  from  this 
cannonade. 

Through  the  wounds  and  mishaps  of  the  sortie, 
the  immediate  command  of  the  enemy's  column  had 
devolved  upon  Captain  Gray,  of  the  quartermaster 
general's  department,  whose  gallantry  inspired  his 
men  with  confidence.  Walking  backward  and  swinging 
his  sword,  he  shouted,  "Come  on,  boys,  the  day  is 
ours!  Remember  Little  York!"  when  he  suddenly 
fell  inert,  immediately  expiring.  I  heard  an  odd 
chuckle  at  my  elbow  and  turned.  It  was  Cyrenus. 
Smoke  was  curling  from  the  muzzle  of  his  rifle. 

Simultaneously  there  came  from  the  woods  on  the 
right  a  rattling  volley  of  musketry,  striking  dismay 
to  the  disheartened  enemy,  who  thought  it  came 
from  reinforcements  of  regulars.  As  it  proved,  Gen- 


256  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

eral  Brown  had  succeeded  in  rallying  about  a  hundred 
of  the  militia,  who,  hidden  in  the  dense  woods, 
pumped  in  a  flank  fire  at  close  range.  At  any  rate, 
the  enemy  whirled,  as  had  our  poor  militia,  in  igno- 
minious retreat.  We  left  the  blockhouses  and  Brown's 
rallied  forces  burst  from  the  woods,  all  following  in 
keen  pursuit.  The  British  sought  to  pick  up  their 
wounded  but  we  pressed  close,  forcing  them  to  a 
speed  most  indecorous.  They  made  for  their  boats, 
now  in  hot  haste.  The  retreat  had  become  a  rout. 

John  and  I  plunged  ahead  in  our  eagerness,  out- 
stripping the  others.  Suddenly  there  came  from  the 
left  a  great  crackling  of  underbrush  and  there  burst 
into  view  a  cloud  of  tawny,  rushing  forms.  We  were 
surrounded.  I  remember  a  sinewy  hand  clutching  my 
throat,  of  the  thud  of  my  rifle  butt  as  I  brought  it 
clubbed  down  upon  a  skull  crowned  with  a  mane  of 
greasy  black  hair.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  hideous, 
swarthy  face,  convulsed  with  pain  as  the  form  fell  to 
the  earth.  Then,  full  upon  my  head,  fell  a  sickening 
blow  from  behind.  The  world  went  black  as  I  went 
down,  with  a  sight  of  John  fighting  like  a  bulldog 
in  the  midst  of  a  pack  of  snarling  terriers  ahead. 

Darkness  gathered  like  a  storm,  pierced  with  light- 
ning flashes  of  pain.  A  watery  murmur  sounded, 
deepening  at  times  into  a  hungry,  truculent  roar. 
Then,  after  a  long  time,  my  eyes  opened. 


SUDDENLY    THERE  BURST    INTO    VIEW    A    CLOUD    OF 
TAWNY,    RUSHING    FOKMS 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

The  Strength  of  Ten 

My  eyes  opened,  but  only  a  black  void,  which  they 
could  not  pierce,  pressed  in  upon  me.  Light  ap- 
peared, however,  in  the  shape  of  the  hot  flashes  of 
pain  that  rent  my  cranium  as  I  roused  wholly  from 
my  stupor.  I  blinked  blurred  eyes  and  strove  to  clap 
my  hands  to  my  hurt  head  as  I  groaned.  I  became 
conscious  that  they  were  fastened  securely,  tied  at 
the  wrists.  My  ankles  had  been  similarly  bound. 

Where  was  I?  I  seemed  to  move  steadily  forward 
in  the  gloom.  I  felt  above  me,  bewildered,  rolling 
upon  my  side  and  extending  my  bound  hands.  They 
encountered  rough  planking  and  a  pile  of  what 
seemed  to  be  cordage.  I  noted  a  vague  rippling, 
lapping  sound  outside  of  my  prison.  The  events  of 
the  day  shaped  themselves  in  my  jarred  brain  and  the 
dawn  of  understanding  broke  unpleasantly  upon  me. 
I  was  clearly  a  prisoner  in  the  hold  of  one  of  the 
king's  ships  and  was  bound  once  more  for  Frontenac, 
but  this  time  at  a  disheartening  disadvantage.  Truly 
in  this  game  of  battledore  I  was  just  now  a  badly 
battered  shuttlecock ! 

The  situation  was  most  serious.  I  had  heretofore 
been  able  to  play  my  role  of  Stranahan  with  un- 
detected impunity  on  the  other  side,  but  now  I  would 
enter  Frontenac  under  conditions  that  would  be  cer- 
tain to  expose  the  cheat.  Had  I  fallen  into  the  hands 


of  any  other  man,  it  might  have  been  quite  possible 
for  me  to  explain  matters  on  the  ground  that  the 
role  I  was  supposed  to  be  playing  at  the  Harbor  de- 
manded my  presence  in  the  field  against  my  brothers 
in  arms.  But  though  I  had  not  seen  him,  I  knew 
instinctively  the  identity  of  the  commander  of  the 
cloud  of  savages  that  had  captured  me.  My  cap- 
tor knew  me  and  I  would  be  revealed  in  Frontenac 
in  my  true  colors.  The  lie  I  had  lived  there,  I  grimly 
told  myself,  would  be  nailed  with  the  scaffolding 
they  would  erect  for  my  outgoing,  for  it  would  be 
short  shift  with  a  proved  spy.  I  swallowed  with 
a  foretaste  of  choking  and  stared  into  the  gloom. 

In  the  instant  in  which  John  and  I  had  been  sur- 
rounded I  had  glimpsed  the  ill-favored  faces  of  a 
score  or  more  of  savages.  As  I  sank  insensible 
under  the  stunning  blow  I  had  received,  with  the 
giant  before  me  towering  over  the  jackals  that  sur- 
rounded him,  dealing  heavy  blows  with  the  butt  of 
his  clubbed  rifle,  the  recollection  had  flashed  upon 
me  of  the  band  of  savages  landed  by  the  fleet  at 
Henderson  the  day  before. 

As  I  lay  in  the  darkness  I  knew  that  our  discom- 
fiture must  have  come  from  this  source.  The  red- 
skins had  undoubtedly  made  their  way  through  the- 
forest  to  the  village,  to  attack  it  in  the  rear.  Prob- 
ably those  we  had  met  constituted  an  advance 
guard  and  there  was  a  larger  band  further  back. 
They  had  come  just  in  time  to  witness  the  repulse 
of  the  king's  regulars.  Rushing  through  the  woods 
to  join  their  white  brethren  in  their  retreat,  they 
had  come  upon  John  and  myself,  rushing  ahead  of 
the  troops  who  were  far  behind  us,  intent  upon  a 
reckless  pursuit  of  the  flying  enemy.  The  rest  was 
plain.  I  was  once  more  afloat  for  Frontenac,  and 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  TEN  259 

John — where  was  John?  Did  he  accompany  me,  or 
would  they  bury  him,  to-morrow  or  the  next  day, 
with  the  rest  of  the  dead  at  the  Harbor? 

"  No,"  I  muttered,  gazing  reflectively  up  into  the 
funereal  gloom  as  I  sprawled.  "  No,  I'm  cursed  if 
they  will!  The  vermin  couldn't  kill  him!" 

Somehow  the  thought  gave  me  comfort  despite 
the  jeopardy  of  my  own  neck.  There  was  something 
thrilling  in  the  thought  of  that  great  bulk  in  action, 
in  the  memory  of  those  terrific  arms  that  fell  like 
flails  upon  the  unjust,  the  force  of  which  sent  men 
reeling  like  ninepins,  bleeding  and  broken;  before 
whose  unloosed  power  the  might  of  most  seemed  puny 
as  the  feeble  kickings  of  a  mewling  babe.  The  picture 
of  the  giant  aroused  was  one  that  a  man  might 
well  take  with  him  to  the  steps  of  the  scaffold,  to 
give  him  grace  to  die  with  a  fillip  for  the  hangman 
and  a  gibe  for  the  mocking  multitude.  It  was  a 
picture  of  Homeric  mould,  one  that  brought  from 
dead  ages  the  red  flash  of  the  battle  in  the  arena; 
of  the  straining  hands  of  the  gladiator  twisting  the 
neck  of  the  struggling  bull ;  of  the  frenzied  howls  of 
the  mad  throng  that  packed  the  amphitheatre,  wild 
with  the  homage  that  the  world  has  paid  to  cruel, 
resistless  power  since  the  sightless  Samson  pulled 
down  the  pillars  of  the  temple — and  before. 

So  it  was  that  though  I  rushed  with  the  mind  into 
the  very  shadow  of  the  scaffold,  bound  hand  and  foot 
in  the  hold  of  the  unknown  brig  that  was  my  prison, 
my  eyes  could  sparkle  and  my  nostrils  flare  with 
the  remembered  sight  of  my  dynamic  friend,  as  I  had 
often  seen  him,  arising  in  memory.  He  was  not  dead, 
not  he !  At  the  worst  he  bore  me  company  in  some 
other  ship.  And  perhaps 

A  sound,  near  at  hand,  disturbed  my  reflections, 


260  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

Footsteps  approached,  evidently  descending  to  the 
hold.  A  moment  more  and  the  glare  of  a  lantern 
flashed  in  my  eyes,  nearly  blinding  me. 

"Well,  well,"  rumbled  a  deep,  musical  voice,  one  I 
knew  too  well.  "What  ails  your  eyes,  my  puppy 
friend?  Gad!  you  are  young  yet.  They  blink  like 
an  owl's  or  a  new-born  kitten's." 

With  sundry  grunts  I  drew  myself  painfully  into 
a  sitting  posture,  my  back  against  a  cask.  My 
eyes,  now  unwinking,  gazed  into  the  mottled,  ugly 
face  above  me.  The  most  of  it,  through  goodly  grace, 
was  mercifully  hidden  with  a  bristling  red  beard.  His 
lips,  drawn  like  a  dog's  at  the  corners  with  a  sar- 
donic grin,  exposed  his  yellowed  fangs.  In  the  weird 
light  of  the  lantern,  his  short,  broad  body  looked 
oddly  squat.  The  coarse  neck,  swollen  with  muscle, 
showed  redder  than  his  beard  as  he  seated  himself 
on  an  overturned  cask  near  me. 

"So  it's  you,  is  it?"  I  commented.  "I  thought 
you  were  in  h — 1." 

"And  the  wish  fathered  the  thought,  I  suppose?" 
he  rejoined,  leering  at  me. 

"'Hope,  long  deferred,  maketh  the  heart  sick,' ': 
I  quoted  dryly.  "But  the  devil  needs  you  above  for 
a  while,  it  is  quite  evident.  Had  I  the  use  of  my 
two  hands,  I  would  try  to  shorten  your  term  of 
service." 

"You!"  he  sneered.  "Have  a  care,  boy,  lest  I  con- 
clude to  break  you  in  two  right  here  and  now ! " 

"Unloose  my  hands  and  try  it!"  I  broke  out,  my 
voice  hoarse  with  passion,  for  the  hateful  personality 
of  the  brute  maddened  me.  "  You  murdering  coward !" 

He  viewed  me  with  a  mild,  ludicrous  curiosity 
that  was  maddening. 

"Baby  want  his  pap?"  he  asked  me   soothingly. 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  TEN  261 

"He  must  be  quiet  or  his  daddy  will  spank  him." 
I  was  speechless  with  fury. 

He  regarded  me  with  half  closed  yellow  eyes,  like 
a  solicitous  cat.  "'Fore  God,  infant,"  he  resumed, 
in  a  whining  tone  of  injury,  "you  wrong  your  pappy. 
He  may  be  a  murderer,  but  he's  no  coward.  Don't 
you  suppose  I  ran  a  greater  risk  than  any  of  your 
cursed  crew  at  Little  York?  I  was  closer  to  the 
magazine  than  any  of  you." 

It  was  undeniable.  "I  hoped  they  would  find  your 
scattered  fragments  throughout  Canada,  to  end  with 
your  trouser  buttons  in  Frontenac ! "  I  exclaimed 
savagely.  "I  don't  see  how  you  escaped." 

"Through  h — 1's  mercy,"  he  replied,  with  perfect  if 
impious  truth.  "As  for  my  trouser  buttons,  they 
will  be  in  Frontenac  tomorrow,  attached  to  my 
trousers,  and  I  shall  occupy  both  legs  of  those  useful 
garments.  You  will  be  there  also,  my  young  ape, 
and  if  I  mistake  not,  you  will  remain  there  or  else- 
where, safely  housed,  till  we  have  completed  the 
little  job  of  annexing  your  dog's  country." 

Imprisoned,  eh  ?  A  ray  of  hope  cheered  me.  He, 
at  least,  did  not  know  that  to  his  crew  I  was  one  king's 
own  Stranahan.  But  the  hope  died,  for  my  emerg- 
ing from  the  ship  a  prisoner  would  lead  to  instant 
recognition,  with  the  story  he  had  to  tell,  and  inves- 
tigations would  be  made  which  would  wind  up  my 
career  with  distressing  abruptness. 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  where  I  am  and  what 
o'clock  it  is?"  I  queried,  with  mock  courtesy. 

"You  are  kicking  your  heels  in  the  hold  of  the 
good  ship  christened  for  the  Royal  George,  God  save 
him,"  answered  this  gallant  subject.  "I  should  judge 
it  lacks  two  hours  of  midnight." 

"So,"  I  commented,  easing  my  numbed  wrists  as 


262  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

well  as  I  was  able.  "You  must  have  delayed  your 
departure,  or  are  we  already  nearly  to  Frontenac?" 

"Hardly,"  he  answered.  "The  other  ships  are  some 
distance  in  advance.  The  Royal  George,  which  has 
the  honor  of  conveying  Sir  James  Yeo  and  My  Lord 
Provost,  hung  around  till  dusk  in  the  hope  that 
your  fools  yonder  would  obey  the  word  we  sent  and 
surrender  in  the  king's  name.  But  we  had  to  sail 
without  that  courtesy." 

I  laughed  and  he  showed  his  wolfish  teeth  in  a 
sardonic  grin.  "Small  call  for  us  to  surrender," 
said  I,  "unless  we  pinned  our  flag  on  the  flying  coat 
tails  of  your  king's  regulars,  and  truth  to  tell,  we 
could  not  catch  them.  You  are  excellent  sprinters. 
But  why  were  you  at  so  much  trouble  to  capture 
me?" 

"You!"  he  exclaimed,  with  disconcerting  scorn. 
"You  flatter  yourself!  Who  the  devil  do  you  suppose 
wanted  you  ?  You  were  merely  an  accidental  quarry. 
It  was  that  big  hound  that  was  with  you  I  wanted, 
curse  him  !"  His  evil  face  expressed  a  sadly  thwarted 
ambition. 

"Why,  didn't  you  get  him?"  I  asked,  grinning 
amiably. 

"Get  him!"  he  snarled,  rage  distorting  his  ugly 
face,  "all  h — 1  couldn't  get  him  !  Two  of  my  best  men 
brained,  about  six  more  laid  out  half  killed  and  he 
disappearing  in  the  woods  without  a  scratch  !  Blast 
him!  Can  I  never  kill  him?"  And  he  burst  into  an 
evil  storm  of  oaths. 

"You  beast!"  I  cried,  bitter  anger  engulfing  me 
like  a  flood.  "You  soulless  wretch,  who  would  mur- 
der your  own  brother  ! " 

He  started.  "Wbat's  that?"  he  exclaimed.  "My 
brother!" 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  TEN  263 

I  glared  at  him,  blazing  anger  in  my  eyes,  bound 
and  helpless,  but  reckless  of  consequences. 

"O,  I  know  you!"  I  burst  out.  "Geoffrey  Aber- 
deen, alias  Red  Rolfe,  murderer,  thief,  bravo,  adven- 
turer and  would-be  despoiler  of  women  !  You  ruined 
your  brother,  driving  him  from  home  a  branded 
criminal,  made  so  by  your  lying  tongue,  you  black- 
guard! You  entered  a  poor  cabin,  unprotected  in 
the  wilderness,  with  a  gang  of  your  red  cutthroats 
and  tore  from  their  shelter  a  defenceless  girl  and  her 
sick  old  father !  You  marked  the  graves  of  two  of 
your  own  dirty  brood  as  theirs,  and  by  the  dese- 
cration recording  a  death  for  her  that  was  God's 
mercy  compared  with  the  living  one  to  which  you 
would  have  consigned  her  !  And  she — she  would  have 
died  by  her  own  hand  had  she  not  been  saved  by 
your  own  father.  You  murdered,  in  cold  blood,  my 
comrades  and  your  own  at  Little  York,  out  of  the 
hell-born  hate  of  all  the  world  that  is  in  you!  You 
seek  to  kill  your  own  brother,  whom  I  have  seen 
more  than  once  stay  his  hand  when  the  good  God 
would  have  smiled  had  he  torn  your  devil's  soul 
from  your  besotted  body  !  I  know  you  and  your 
band,  pack  of  murderers,  ravishers  and  cutthroats ! 
God  in  heaven!"  I  cried.  "Does  He  indeed  rule,  that 
He  will  permit  such  a  snake  to  live ! " 

He  was  bending  over  me  with  livid  lips,  snarling 
like  a  dog.  "I  shall  finish  you  now!"  he  muttered, 
mouthing  the  words  with  cruel  relish.  His  great 
hands  closed  upon  my  throat.  I  strangled  and  the 
dim  glow  in  the  hold  went  black. 

There  was  a  soft  sound  near  me  and  the  next 
instant  the  hands  were  torn  from  my  neck.  I  heard 
the  thud  of  a  heavy  body  against  the  opposite  side 
pf  the  hold,  A  great  form  near  me,  crouched  like  a 


264    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

cat,  launched  after  it.  There  was  a  moment's  strug- 
gling in  the  darkness  and  two  bodies,  in  a  death 
grapple,  rolled  toward  me.  I  saw  the  taller  man  come 
uppermost,  looming  in  the  shadow,  kneeling  on  the 
bravo' s  chest.  One  sinewy  hand  was  knotted  around 
the  under  man's  throat,  holding  him  helpless. 

John,  for  it  was  he,  held  the  bravo  with  perfect 
ease,  powerful  though  the  brute  was.  "  I  shall  have 
to  tie  him,"  he  ruminated,  as  coolly  as  if  he  had 
been  about  to  bind  a  bundle  of  merchandise  in  quar- 
ters, "and  it  will  be  first  necessary  to  quiet  him." 

"  Cut  these  cords,"  I  suggested,  struggling  frantic- 
ally, "and  I  will  help  you." 

"  It  is  not  necessary,"  he  returned.  "  Besides,  I  must 
not  leave  him.  He  is  too  noisy." 

Suddenly  lifting  the  head  of  the  bravo  with  the 
one  powerful  hand,  he  brought  it  down  with  a  ter- 
rific crash  upon  the  planking  of  the  hold.  The  huge 
frame  quivered  and  lay  still.  He  left  it,  and,  coming 
over  to  me,  cut  my  bonds.  We  used  them  to  tie  his 
brother,  who  bade  fair  to  remain  quiet  for  some  time. 
John  took  the  precaution  to  stuff  an  improvised  gag, 
formed  of  sail  cloth,  in  his  mouth,  fastening  it  securely. 
"  When  they  come  down  for  their  prisoner,"  he  com- 
mented, "I  think  they  will  agree  that  the  trend  of 
evolution  is  not  necessarily  upward."  Indeed,  the 
fellow  made  an  uninviting  figure  enough. 

"  You  see,  Gilbert,"  explained  John,  "  I  would  not 
have  left  you,  but  I  was  under  the  impression  that 
you  got  away  also.  I  was  quite  busy  myself  and  had 
no  time  for  observations.  Afterward  I  saw  them  tak- 
ing you  with  them  and  planned  accordingly.  I 
thought  at  first  that  they  would  sail  at  once,  which 
would  have  necessitated  my  starting  to-morrow  for 
Frontenac,  for  I  would  have  got  you  out  or  found 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  TEN  265 

my  finish  trying  it.  I  observed,  however,  that  they 
lay  by.  They  had  men  busy  picking  up  the  wounded 
in  the  afternoon  under  guard  and  sending  them  to 
the  ships  in  boats.  We  did  not  disturb  them.  I  took 
pains  to  notice  that  you  were  put  aboard  the 
Royal  George.  I  prowled  around  through  the  woods, 
at  my  wits'  end  for  some  means  of  getting  aboard 
this  ship.  It  grew  dusk  and  most  of  the  boats  had 
left  Horse  Island,  beyond  the  bar,  on  their  last  trip 
over.  There  was  but  one  detachment  of  men  left  by 
this  time,  a  half  dozen  or  so  employed  in  carefully 
looking  for  any  of  the  wounded  who  might  have 
been  passed  by.  I  caught  sight  of  a  young  naval 
officer  among  them,  a  man  I  had  happened  to  meet 
casually  on  an  occasion  at  Montreal.  I  knew  he  was 
on  the  Royal  George  and  made  up  my  mind  that 
this  last  boatload  belonged  to  that  ship. 

"I  had  nearly  determined  to  try  and  get  out  to 
Horse  Island  undetected  in  the  dusk  and  then  let 
the  last  boat  take  me  over  hanging  to  the  stern, 
when  the  question  was  solved  for  me.  Evidently 
satisfied  that  there  were  no  more  wounded  lying 
about,  the  young  officer  called  to  his  men  to  leave 
the  woods,  where  they  had  been  hunting  for  possibly 
disabled  comrades,  and  proceeded  across  the  bar  to 
Horse  Island  and  the  boat. 

"A  moment  later  there  was  a  crackling  of  the  brush 
near  me  and  the  next  instant  there  faced  me,  though 
you  may  be  incredulous,  Gilbert,  a  man  fully  as  tall 
and  big  as  I.  What  was  still  more  fortunate,  he  was 
dark  in  complexion  and  had  a  heavy  beard  of  the 
same  hue  as  my  own.  He  did  not  notice  me  and 
was  going  by,  but  I  stepped  in  his  way. 

"'A  moment,  friend,'  said  I.  'Are  you  with  the 
Royal  George?' 


266  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"  'Yes,'  he  answered,  scowling,  'if  it's  any  of  your 
business.' 

"  'It  is,'  I  told  him.  '  Take  off  your  coat,  my  friend, 
and  be  quick  about  it,  for  whether  you  go  back 
to  it  or  I  go  in  your  place  has  got  to  be  settled 
right  away.' 

"  Well,  whoever  he  was,  he  was  game,  but  he  didn't 
have  the  muscle  that  should  have  gone  with  his 
bigness.  I  had  him  thrown  in  short  order  and  took 
care  to  throw  him  hard.  The  back  of  his  head  hit  a 
convenient  trunk  and  he  didn't  get  up.  I  pulled  off 
his  coat,  which  he  had  been  vain  enough  to  keep  on, 
and  exchanged  hats  with  him,  his  being  a  wider 
slouch  than  mine.  I  hadn't  my  uniform  trousers  on, 
nor  he  either,  and  as  both  were  of  dark  material  I 
had  no  difficulty  in  simulating  him.  I  hurried  after 
the  rest  of  the  party,  overtaking  them  just  before 
they  got  to  the  island.  They  growled  that  they  thought 
I  was  never  coming  and  called  me  Sim.  I  growled 
briefly  in  reply  and  seemed  ill  tempered,  so  after  a 
little  they  let  me  alone.  I  pulled  Sim's  oar  over  to 
the  Royal  George.  It  was  quite  dark  when  we  boarded 
her,  and,  through  sheer  good  luck,  by  keeping  to  my- 
self I  managed  to  remain  undetected.  I  was  relieved 
upon  the  ship's  getting  under  way  shortly  after  we 
boarded  her,  for  I  had  begun  to  worry  about  Sim, 
who  might  have  revived  and  found  some  way  of  get- 
ting aboard  before  she  started.  I  regretted  not  having 
torn  up  my  own  coat  and  used  the  pieces  to  tie  him 
with,  but  I  was  pressed  for  time  just  then  and  forgot 
it.  However,  all's  ended  well.  I  did  not  know  where 
you  were  at  first,  but  finally  saw  my  dear  brother 
yonder  making  for  the  hold  and  followed  him  down." 

"So  you  heard  it  all!"  I  exclaimed. 

"All,"  he  replied.     "And  let  me  advise  you,"  he 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  TEN  267 

added  soberly,  "  never  again  to  tell  a  man  the  truth 
about  himself  when  your  hands  are  tied.  He  won't 
like  it  and  neither  will  you.  But  I  guess  that  gang 
above  are  dropping  asleep  now,  and  we  must  be  get- 
ting out  of  this.  I  wanted  to  remain  till  it  was 
quiet.  Leave  your  boots  here,  for  we  must  make  no 
noise.  Mine  are  on  the  deck.  Took  them  off  just 
before  I  came  down." 

Red  Rolfe  had  not  stirred,  but  was  breathing 
heavily,  showing  some  faint  signs  of  returning  ani- 
mation. "Why  don't  you  finish  him?"  I  asked. 

"Why  should  a  white  man  kill  him?"  he  retorted, 
stirring  the  inert  body  contemptuously  with  his  foot. 
"  Perhaps  some  day  his  Indians  will  do  it." 

We  made  our  way  silently  up  the  ladder.  It  was 
John's  plan  to  steal  a  boat  if  luck  favored,  letting  it 
easily  into  the  water  and  gaining  it  immediately, 
then  quietly  cutting  loose.  It  was  a  desperate  chance 
and  could  not  be  accomplished  in  any  case  unless 
the  deck  was  all  but  deserted.  We  gained  the  deck, 
gliding  like  shadows  and  making  our  way  toward 
the  stern.  Clouds  banked  the  sky,  only  a  few  stars 
peeping  through  rifts  in  the  ragged  masses.  It  was 
very  dark.  Fortune  seemed  to  favor  us. 

Just  at  that  unlucky  moment  I  pitched  headlong,  a 
couple  of  howls  arising  beneath  me.  Mistaking  them 
for  shadows,  I  had  fallen  over  two  sleeping  men.  It 
was  clearly  time  for  action.  I  picked  myself  up  and 
was  over  the  rail  an  instant  after  John  had  cleared 
it.  I  went  down  for  what  seemed  a  mile,  emerging  at 
the  surface  blowing  and  gasping.  The  brig  was  al- 
ready far  ahead.  I  could  hear  excited  voices  on  her 
deck,  but  she  did  not  pause  to  send  out  exploring 
boats,  it  being  evidently  considered  useless  in  the 
night  to  try  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 


268  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

Owing  to  the  darkness,  I  doubt  if  the  men  who  were 
awakened  adequately  realized  the  cause,  and  I  found 
in  after  days  that  my  escape  was  not  learned  till 
accident  had  revealed  a  startling  discovery.  Some 
hours  after  the  Royal  George  entered  the  port 
at  Frontenac  that  morning,  sympathetic  hands 
undid  the  cords  that  bound  a  furious  bravo,  whose 
blistering  blasphemies  speedily  followed  the  removal 
of  the  muffling  gag. 

However,  to  revert,  I  gasped  and  sputtered  on  the 
surface  of  Ontario,  fresh  from  a  breathless  explora- 
tion of  its  depths.  "  Gilbert,"  spoke  a  voice  near  me. 
A  moment  more  and  we  were  swimming  side  by  side, 
toward  a  bank  of  murk,  far  off,  that  might  be  land, 
revealed  occasionally  by  faint  moonbeams  as  the 
clouds  shifted.  We  stopped  to  tread  water  and  re- 
move a  part  of  our  encumbering  clothing. 

We  swam,  it  seemed,  for  hours.  'I  was  exhausted, 
but  the  giant  beside  me  seemed  tireless.  "It's  no 
use,"  I  finally  gasped..  "  Go  on,  John,  I'm  done,"  and 
sank. 

I  came  to  myself  to  find  him  bearing  me,  a  dead 
weight,  swimming  on  his  side,  one  arm  supporting 
me,  the  other  cleaving  the  water,  strong  and  steady 
as  a  piston  rod.  I  relieved  him  and  struggled  on. 

So  it  went,  on  through  long  hours  till  the  gray 
dawn.  I  swam  when  I  could.  At  other  times  I  lay 
nearly  senseless  on  the  arm  of  the  man  whom  it 
seemed  nothing  could  overwhelm,  who  appeared  ex- 
haustless. 

With  the  faint  dawn  of  the  new  day  there  stretched, 
close  at  hand,  a  friendly  island.  We  gained  it,  then 
lay  for  a  time  inert.  Presently  a  sail  showed,  nearing 
us.  We  waited  in  keen  suspense.  They  had  seen  us 
and  were  sailing  toward  us.  Enemies  or  friends? 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  TEN  269 

John's  eyes  were  like  a  hawk's.  When  she  was  still 
too  far  away  for  me  to  see  the  color  of  the  fluttering 
flag  at  the  peak,  he  whooped  in  exultation,  fetching 
me  a  resounding  whop  on  the  back  that  sent  me 
staggering. 

"All  right,  Gilbert!"  he  shouted.  "She's  one  of 
Chauncey's  little  fellows,  an  armed  schooner.  We're 
due  for  the  Harbor  I" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

Futility 

I  was  absent  for  a  time  that  autumn  on  an  in> 
portant  secret  mission  to  Albany,  for  my  militia 
command  had  recently  been  merged  with  John's,  he 
commanding  the  two,  whose  combined  numbers  were 
after  all  at  that  time  not  equal  to  the  required  quota 
of  one.  I  was  now  regularly  connected  with  the  Secret 
Service  Bureau.  My  successful  ingratiation  into  the 
confidence  of  the  United  States  Government  I  had 
communicated  to  my  supposed  British  comrades,  the 
fact  causing  naturally  great  felicitation  among  them. 
I  was  now  in  the  unique  position  of  being  the  ac- 
credited secret  agent  of  two  warring  governments  and 
my  cards  had  to  be  played  with  extreme  care  to 
avoid  a  faux  pas  across  the  border,  where  the  bold 
game  was  as  yet  unsuspected.  I  still  sailed  in  smooth 
waters,  but  at  any  moment  they  might  become  tem- 
pest-lashed. I  congratulated  myself  that  as  yet  no 
occasion  had  arisen  for  summoning  me  to  Montreal. 
That  must  have  meant  the  instant  relinquishment  of 
the  hoax  so  beneficial  to  us,  for  I  naturally  could  not 
risk  a  personal  meeting  with  Sir  George  Provost  or 
his  immediate  circle  who  had  despatched  Stranahan 
upon  his  ill-starred  mission.  I  had  remained  fortu- 
nate thus  far  in  not  encountering  any  one  who  had 
met  Stranahan  in  the  brief  interval  after  his  arrival 
from  England  and  before  his  crossing  to  our  side. 


FUTILITY  271 

The  few  other  spies  from  the  opposite  border  whom 
I  met  from  time  to  time  were  usually  agents  dele- 
gated to  receive  my  reports  as  Stranahan,  which  I 
composed  with  discretion.  I  misled  the  enemy  where 
I  could,  but  where  others  of  their  emissaries,  of  whose 
operations  I  kept  myself  informed,  were  in  a  position 
to  know  of  the  actual  state  of  affairs,  I  reported 
truly,  well  knowing  that,  owing  to  my  peculiar  posi- 
tion, I  could  easily  gain  more  than  I  gave  away. 
However,  the  confidence  of  the  British  had  so  grown 
in  my  discretion  that  I  was  left  with  a  free  hand, 
which  diminished  the  risk.  One  or  two  suspicious 
characters  at  the  Harbor  who  might  have  made 
trouble  for  me  had  been  cared  for  and  were  where 
they  would  be  powerless  for  annoyance  till  the  war 
was  done. 

Just  now  at  Albany  I  was  sending,  as  Stranahan, 
information  northward  across  the  water  by  a  certain 
"  underground"  route,  that  was  clear  as  day  to  our 
side,  of  contemplated  increases  in  the  defensive  meas- 
ures along  the  border,  which,  commissioned  by  our 
own  military  powers,  I  was  now  in  a  fair  way  to 
actually  bring  about  by  the  strongest  representations 
of  need.  While  there  I  received  a  letter  from  John 
relating  to  the  naval  situation  on  the  lake  that  fall, 
which  communication,  yellowed  with  age,  I  still  pre- 
serve. The  futility  of  Ontario's  naval  record  was  a 
subject  on  which  John  felt  deeply. 

"  Well,  Gilbert,"  he  wrote,  "  we  have  had  a  running 
fight  or  two  with  Yeo  since  you  left.  Running  in  all 
that  the  term  implies.  Our  ships,  laden  with  seamen 
and  land  troops,  with  marines  and  gunners  fresh  from 
ocean  service;  Yeo's  equipment  likewise;  a  meeting;  a 
few  mutual  shots  at  a  depressing  long  range;  maybe 
a  few  splinters;  perhaps  a  fatality  or  two,  really,  I 


272  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

cannot  remember.  Then  the  parting;  the  running 
retirement  of  the  rival  commodores  in  opposite  direc- 
tions; each  to  his  own  place;  each  to  indite  to  his 
government  a  lengthy  report  concerning  the  things 
left  undone  that,  God  knows,  and  the  people  as  well, 
ought  to  be  done.  Do  you  remember  a  certain  recent 
message;  a  message  pithy,  laconic  and  withal  im- 
mortal as  the  name  subscribed  to  it ;  a  message  that 
will  ring  down  the  ages  till  time  shall  crumble  in  its 
inevitable  dust?  Pardon  this  poetic  fervor,  Gilbert, 
but  I  refer  to  that  briefly  glorious  'We  have  met 
the  enemy  and  they  are  ours.'  Lord !  boy,  could  we 
but  have  been  there! 

"  I  have  referred  to  the  splinters.  Sometimes  there 
are  not  even  those.  Only  last  week  we  sailed  proudly 
out  of  the  Harbor,  laden  deep  with  men  who  were 
spoiling  for  a  fight.  Presently  we  captured  a  fright- 
ened Canadian  merchantman.  There  was  no  blood- 
shed. We  revelled  in  the  supremacy  of  the  lake. 
Finally  a  strange  sail  appeared  in  the  offing.  More 
materialized,  the  union  jack  at  their  peaks.  Chaun- 
cey  took  tally.  God's  mercy !  Yeo's  fleet  held  one 
more  brig  and  two  more  schooners  than  his  own ! 
And  back  we  came  piking  under  all  sail  to  the  Har- 
bor, like  a  brood  of  downy  chicks  to  the  wing  of  a 
maternal  hen,  and  the  ring  of  hammers  is  again  heard 
in  the  shipyards.  Meanwhile,  Yeo,  succeeding  to  the 
'  supremacy,'  swaggers  up  and  down  the  lake  and  will 
so  swagger  till  Chauncey's  reappearance  with  addi- 
tional boats.  Then,  for  it  is  already  a  mutually 
thrice  told  tale,  he  will  in  his  order  turn  stern  and 
fly  for  Frontenac  and  more  ships.  It  is  the  same 
yesterday,  to-day  and  forever.  It  is  opera  bouffe !" 

And  yet,  mused  I,  upon  the  reading  of  that  letter, 
as  I  replaced  it  in  my  pocket,  after  all  one  must  be 


FUTILITY  273 

charitable.  Being  away  from  the  scene  of  inopera- 
tion,  away  where  the  lust  for  action  was  not  being 
constantly  frostbitten  by  the  chill  of  over-caution,  one 
was  enabled,  by  grace  of  the  altered  perspective,  to 
take  a  more  judicial,  dispassionate  view  of  men  and 
things.  Yeo  and  Chauncey,  were  they  not  achieving 
according  to  their  lights?  And  if  their  lights  were 
but  tallow  dips,  what  then?  It  was  the  common 
illuminant  of  the  time,  and  in  the  universe  of  God 
there  are  few  suns  in  the  waste  of  lesser  star-dust,  dead 
moons  and  nebulae.  Also,  in  a  crowded  world  of 
men,  reflected  I,  in  the  many  fields  of  effort,  the 
Chaunceys  and  the  Yeos  stand,  after  all,  rather  above 
the  average.  And  the  Perrys,  in  any  line,  can  but 
be  few.  Napoleon,  I  meditated,  even  now  fighting  his 
last  Titanic  unparalleled  fight  against  the  monstrous, 
crushing  European  coalition  which  was  seeking  his 
undoing,  could  count  his  equals,  in  all  the  preceding 
ages  of  the  world,  upon  the  fingers  of  a  hand. 

Having  transacted  my  business  at  Albany,  I  re- 
turned to  the  Harbor  through  the  autumnal  glories 
of  the  forest,  arriving  there  late  in  September,  in 
readiness  to  accompany  General  Wilkinson's  army  in 
its  projected  Canadian  invasion  that  fall.  The  ad- 
visability of  my  accompanying  my  own  forces  had 
been  gravely  decided  upon  by  my  Canadian  chiefs,  as 
I  had  represented  to  them  by  letter  to  Montreal  that 
I  could  probably  be  of  some  use  by  going  along.  I 
received  a  reply  endorsing  the  idea  and  enclosing 
another  regular  remittance  of  Stranahan's  pay.  I 
will  mention  here,  though  it  is  merely  incidental,  that 
the  sum  total  of  these  remittances  remained  intact, 
and  when  the  adventurous  hoax  was  ended,  it  was 
returned  untouched  to  Montreal.  While  filling  the 
unsuspected  gap  in  the  enemy's  secret  service,  I  was 


274  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

far  from  being  capable  of  availing  myself  of  the 
perquisites  thereto. 

Upon  reaching  home  I  left  my  horse  at  the  stable 
and  proceeded  to  quarters.  John  was  there,  coat  off, 
shirt  sleeves  rolled  to  the  elbow,  directing  the  un- 
loading of  some  wagon  loads  of  supplies.  He  paused 
a  moment  to  give  me  welcome  with  a  grip  that  made 
me  wince,  then  quickly  resumed  his  oversight  of  the 
yokels,  who  needed  it. 

Two  of  them,  big  beefy  fellows,  had  just  desisted  in 
a  clumsy  effort  to  hoist  an  unwieldy  cask  of  rum 
in  the  back  of  a  wagon.  They  now  stood  before 
it  with  helpless  head  scratchings,  perplexedly  staring. 
With  a  wink  at  me,  John  stepped  to  the  wagon,  tilted 
the  heavy  cask  over  on  its  side,  rolled  it  to  the  edge 
of  the  wagon  box,  and  bending  his  mighty  shoulders, 
got  under  it  with  an  upward  lift,  and,  carrying  it  the 
short  intervening  distance  to  the  storehouse,  sent  it 
rolling  with  a  mighty  heave  down  the  long  floor  to 
join  its  fellows.  He  laughed  as  he  marked  the  yokels' 
goggling  eyes. 

"Get  the  knack,"  he  admonished  them  briefly. 
"  Main  strength  is  not  the  secret.  It's  the  applica- 
tion." 

A  voice,  a  remembered  voice,  dirged  at  my  elbow. 
"Them's  more  sperrits,"  it  said  drearily,  "than  I 
ever  see  any  one  man  stand  up  under  at  any  one 
time  afore." 

"How  are  you,  Abner?"  asked  I  cordially,  though 
I  felt  a  draught.  "How  is  Betsey?" 

"She  sends  word,"  responded  Abner,  with  a  dis- 
tinctly aggrieved  air,  "that  this  last  crop  war  big- 
ger'n  ever." 

"That  was  too  bad,"  I  murmured  sympathetically. 
And  Abner  podded  funereally,  nor  turned  a  gray  hair. 


FUTILITY  275 

"And  Noadiah  and  Cyrenus,  are  they  both  well?"  I 
asked. 

"He  an'  him  don't  speak  yet,"  wailed  Abner.  "I 
hev  tried  some  to  rekerncile  them,  for  it's  onpleasant 
havin'  them  as  has  been  sorter  neighbors  o'  your'n 
not  noticin'  of  t'other.  But  they  won't  rekerncile 
worth  a  cuss,"  and  he  ambled  aimlessly  away,  his 
wrinkled  face  enwrapped  in  deepened  gloom.  I  shiv- 
ered and  started  for  the  house.  On  the  way  I  passed 
the  cottage  of  the  Widow  Hankinson.  Casually 
glancing  through  the  window  I  noted  two  chairs 
standing  within  hailing  distance  of  one  another. 
Upon  one  of  these  rested  demurely  the  widow;  upon 
the  other  palpitated  Noadiah,  steeped  in  the  blissful 
witchery  of  her  smile.  Ah,  Cupid,  young,  busy  imp, 
by  whose  sweet  sorcery  winter,  renewed,  is  again 
dandled  in  the  lap  of  spring ! 

Two  fair  damsels  met  me  at  the  door.  One  I 
kissed,  nor  durst  similarly  salute  the  other,  as  I  was 
minded,  which  fact  I  judged  to  be  divined  by  the  one 
I  kissed,  from  the  bubbling  laughter  in  her  eyes. 
And  with  a  venomous  glance,  which  in  no  way  sub- 
dued her  as  it  should,  I,  in  some  natural  confusion, 
fawned  foolishly  upon  the  radiant  Gypso,  even  as  he 
fawned  foolishly  on  me.  And  Renee's  robin,  from  his 
perch  on  her  shoulder,  chirped  scornfully  at  me,  and 
his  beady  eyes,  in  which  malice  rioted,  bored  into  my 
soul.  I  greeted  my  invalid  father,  sitting  helpless  in 
his  chair.  And  presently  John  and  M.  De  Montefort 
came  in  and  we  all  sat  down  to  supper. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
The  Three  Musketeers 

The  oars  swung  in  rhythmic,  silent  unison,  with 
muffled  sweeps,  the  heavy  boat  urged  on  under  the 
steady  impetus  of  powerful  backs  and  brawny  arms. 
The  water  lapped  ceaselessly,  murmuring  weirdly 
in  the  darkness,  against  the  boat's  sides;  the  faint 
moan  of  a  fitful,  light  wind  sounded  in  the  woods 
girting  the  distant  shore,  a  deeper  shadow  line  to  the 
southward.  Overhead  there  rolled  in  mighty,  broken 
masses  to  the  southeast,  great  smothering  clouds, 
spitting  at  intervals  a  fine,  cold  rain,  like  spray. 
Occasionally  there  shone  from  over  the  huge  shoul- 
der of  a  monstrous  cloud  the  weak  rays  of  a  watery 
moon,  to  be  in  an  instant  blotted  out  as  the  face  of 
the  waters  gloomed  again.  And  always  the  gentle, 
lifting  swell,  lulling  and  interminable ;  the  sweep  of  the 
solemn  cloud-cohorts  of  the  sky ;  the  stretch  of  the 
shrouded,  sombre  waters ;  the  distant  beat  of  the  surf 
upon  the  sandy  shore. 

About  us,  splotches  of  added  shadows  in  the  gloom, 
moved  silently  forward  the  other  transports.  It 
was  an  hour  past  midnight.  We  kept  on,  tireless, 
grimly  determined,  for  an  object  must  be  compassed 
with  the  dawn,  an  object  involving  the  issue  of  that 
year,  the  last  of  this  momentous  war. 

Sitting  in  the  stern,  I  turned  to  the  man  next  me. 
Officers  though  we  were,  we  had  taken  our  turn  at 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS  277 

the  oars  with  the  rest,  but  had  lately  been  re- 
lieved. 

"  It  is  to  our  everlasting  good  fortune,"  said  I, 
in  a  subdued  tone,  "  if  Yeo's  ships  have  remained  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  Galloups,  dispensing  with  scout 
work.  If  not — 

"If  not,"  grimly  responded  Lieutenant  Woolsey, 
"these  stores  stand  an  excellent  chance  of  equipping 
Sir  James'  new  boats  at  Frontenac,  and  we  an  equally 
good  prospect  of  swelling  the  imprisoned  population 
there.  Even  now  there  may  be  one  of  their  schooners 
snooping  about  in  this  vicinity,  though  I  hope  we 
have  anticipated  them.  I  wish  it  was  dawn.  This 
darkness  wears  on  a  fellow's  nerves." 

"If  they  do  come  before  we  arrive,"  I  observed, 
"  and  get  within  close  range,  which  they  must  do  to 
take  us,  these  fellows  of  Appling's  rifle  corps  will 
bore  them  some.  I'm  glad  they're  along.  But  per- 
haps our  friends  will  elect  to  stand  off  and  blow  us 
out  of  the  water  at  long  range." 

"  No,"  replied  Woolsey,  "  they  won't  do  that.  They 
want  the  stores,  and  to  get  them  they'll  be  willing 
to  take  us  with  them."  And  we  relapsed  into  silence 
while  the  men  pulled  on.  Presently  we  relieved  a 
couple  of  them,  who  were  tiring. 

The  episode  of  which  I  am  treating  is  obscure 
enough  in  the  histories,  yet  upon  it  depended  the 
issue  of  the  year  to  us  of  either  side  of  Ontario's 
warring  borders.  That  closing  winter  of  the  war 
had  been  devoted  to  ship  building  at  the  Harbor, 
and  a  large  patch  of  forest  was  converted  into  boats. 
A  number  of  schooners  had  been  built,  and  on  May 
first,  the  Superior,  a  frigate  pierced  for  sixty-six  guns, 
was  launched.  The  Mohawk  and  the  Jones,  addi- 
tional brigs,  were  still  upon  the  stocks. 


The  armament 'of  the  additional  ships  was  due  to 
arrive  through  Wood  Creek  and  the  Oswego  River 
from  Oswego,  the  rude  roads  being  impassable  with 
mud.  The  active  spies  knew  of  the  expected  arrival 
of  the  supplies.  Indeed,  I  had  been  obliged  to  re- 
port it  myself,  to  avoid  possible  suspicion.  To  pos- 
sess these  munitions  became  at  once  a  matter  of  the 
greatest  importance  to  the  enemy,  who  planned  a 
cunning  descent  upon  Oswego.  Had  it  been  success- 
ful, fortune  must  have  favored  the  British  in  this 
closing  year  of  the  struggle. 

Oswego  had  not  been  occupied  by  regular  troops 
since  the  Revolution.  Its  fort  was  dilapidated  and 
defended  but  by  five  old  guns,  three  of  which  had  lost 
their  trunnions.  However,  troops  were  rushed  there  in 
anticipation  of  the  enemy's  visit,  as,  through  the 
advantage  under  which  I  was  working,  I  had  learned 
of  the  intended  attack  in  a  brief  trip  across  the 
river,  and,  unobtrusively  returning,  had  hastened 
to  Sackets  Harbor  with  the  information.  The  enemy 
came  to  Oswego  with  a  cloud  of  brigs,  schooners 
and  gunboats  and  some  three  thousand  marines  and 
foot  soldiers,  including  two  companies  of  the  famous 
Glengarry  Corps,  on  the  morning  of  the  fifth  of  May. 
An  engagement  in  artillery  resulted  to  our  advantage 
and  a  landing  party  was  repulsed.  At  daybreak  the 
next  morning  the  fleet  again  approached.  After  a 
three  hours'  fire  they  landed  a  considerable  force, 
which  captured  public  stores,  burned  the  old  Revolu- 
tionary barracks  and  returned  to  the  fleet  the  next 
morning.  General  Drummond  commanded  their  land 
forces  and  Commodore  Yeo  the  fleet.  Here  would 
have  been  an  excellent  opportunity  for  Commodore 
Chauncey  to  have  been  there  and  won  a  belated 
reputation,  but  he  was  busy  at  the  Harbor,  com- 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS  279 

pleting  some  more  ships  and  making  reports  to  the 
government  of  what  he  was  going  to  do. 

The  naval  stores  desired  by  the  enemy  were  at 
Oswego  Falls,  now  Fulton,  but  Colonel  Mitchell,  who 
had  with  him  five  companies  of  light  and  heavy  ar- 
tillery, defended  the  port  as  long  as  possible,  and, 
when  compelled  to  retire  from  Oswego,  took  meas- 
ures to  make  pursuit  difficult.  Falling  back  slowly 
toward  the  Falls,  he  destroyed  bridges  and  felled 
timber  to  obstruct  the  roads.  The  enemy  did  not 
follow,  but  boarded  the  fleet,  which  returned  to  its 
station  near  the  Galloup  Islands  to  intercept  the 
passage  of  the  prized  stores,  which  they  judged  must 
pass  near. 

On  May  the  twenty-eighth,  under  command  of 
Lieutenant  Woolsey  and  myself,  with  boatmen  and 
attended  by  Appling's  riflemen,  the  stores  left  Oswego 
Falls  in  eighteen  boats,  we  in  charge  hoping  to  gain 
Stony  Creek  with  them.  They  could  then  be  brought 
up  the  creek  to  a  point  three  miles  from  Henderson 
Harbor,  which  was  a  dozen  miles  from  Sackets.  It 
was  for  this  object  we  were  rowing  through  the 
dark,  rainy  night. 

It  was  a  difficult  matter  in  those  days  to  handle 
freightage  in  times  of  peace,  to  say  nothing  of 
periods  of  war.  Getting  the  armament  for  the  three 
frigates  to  this  point  had  entailed  no  little  labor. 
In  good  weather  the  supplies  for  Sackets  Harbor 
were  brought  mostly  by  way  of  the  Kahuahgo  Val- 
ley or  Redfield  Woods  route.  The  roads  were  im- 
passable with  mud,  however,  so  the  armament  had 
been  brought  from  New  York  on  boats  rigged  with 
a  single  mast,  which  was  jointed  near  the  center- 
board,  to  be  raised  or  lowered  at  convenience.  A 
foot  walk  on  each  side  served  for  men  to  push  with 


28o  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

poles  when  going  up  the  streams.  In  this  way,  via  the 
Hudson  and  its  tributaries,  they  reached  Wood  Creek, 
entered  Oneida  Lake  and  continued  down  the  Oswego 
river  to  Lake  Ontario.  I  had  charge  of  this  detail, 
having  been  despatched  to  New  York  shortly  after 
my  return  to  Sackets  Harbor,  following  the  break- 
ing up  of  Wilkinson's  camp  at  French  Mills.  I  had 
conducted  the  stores  to  Oswego  Falls  some  time 
previously.  Later  I  had  learned  of  the  enemy's 
designs,  had  frustrated  them  thus  far  and  now 
Woolsey  and  I  were  trying  to  land  the  stores  at 
their  destination,  an  object  which  we  heartily  wished 
at  this  moment  had  been  accomplished. 

The  dawn  came,  the  clouds  dispersing  in  baffled, 
disorganized  masses  before  the  onslaught  of  a  royal 
sun.  There  was  still  no  sign  of  the  enemy's  fleet, 
and  our  spirits  rose,  the  men  bending  with  renewed 
vigor  to  their  work.  A  Sabbatarian  calm  lay  on  the 
waters,  which  was  wholly  fitting,  since  it  was  Sunday. 
Ere  long,  however,  a  brisk,  favoring  breeze  sprang 
up  and  leg-o'-mutton  sails  were  quickly  spread  upon 
the  squat,  sturdy  masts  to  assist  our  progress. 

Eyes  were  constantly  turned  toward  the  middle  of 
the  lake  with  common  anxiety.  Those  who  look  for 
trouble  usually  find  it.  About  ten  o'clock,  even  as 
the  faint  tones  of  a  distant  church  bell  echoed  from 
the  wooded  southern  shore,  Woolsey  grasped  my 
arm.  "Look!"  said  he,  pointing. 

Far  away,  small  on  the  watery  horizon,  was  a  small 
schooner,  coming  toward  us.  On  she  came  till  she 
reached  a  distance  from  whence  we  judged  her  crew 
could  easily  with  glasses  determine  our  identity  and 
mission.  Then  she  put  about  with  all  speed  and 
diminished  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"A  scout!"  remarked  Woolsey  grimly.    "No  Stony 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS  281 

Creek  for  us  now.  We're  lucky  if  we  reach  anywhere 
than  Frontenac." 

"  We  will  ground  the  boats  and  smash  or  sink  the 
stores  first!"  I  exclaimed  savagely.  "But  there's 
Big  Sandy!  We'll  reach  it;  we  must!"  I  shouted 
for  the  men  to  pull  for  the  creek,  and  they  did,  like 
the  good  devils  they  were.  And  always,  toiling  like 
mad,  we  looked  through  blinding  sweat  out  to- 
ward the  open,  scanning  the  horizon,  from  whence  at 
any  moment  winged  menace  might  come  flying  to- 
ward us  on  the  deep.  We  had  not  long  to  wait. 
Ere  long  a  splash  of  white  sail  revealed  the  fore- 
runner of  the  king's  ships  and  soon  others  showed 
plain  against  the  blue  background  of  the  arching 
sky.  But  long  ere  the  danger  that  rode  the  deep 
that  day  had  come  close  enough  for  our  discomfort, 
the  mouth  of  the  wide  Big  Sandy  had  been  gained 
by  all  save  one  poorly  manned  transport,  which  fell 
behind  and  was  duly  captured,  and  up  the  protecting 
artery  we  pulled,  still  gallant  and  insensible  to 
fatigue  as  so  many  crews  of  racers  in  their  shells 
in  a  driving  finish;  up  to  safety  and  what  proved 
an  ultimate  victory. 

We  disembarked  and  I  sent  an  Indian  runner  to  the 
Harbor  to  notify  Chauncey  and  the  others  in  com- 
mand of  the  danger,  and,  with  Lieutenant  Woolsey, 
also  dispatched  couriers  to  secure  teams  to  remove 
the  stores  overland  to  the  Harbor. 

You  can  find  no  mention  in  most  histories  of  the 
engagement  which  followed,  but  it  was  of  great  im- 
portance. That  consignment  was  most  valuable. 
It  contained  the  provision  for  the  most  formidable 
frigates  we  had  yet  built,  and,  had  the  British  se- 
cured it,  they  would  have  used  the  guns  immediately 
for  some  craft  they  had  ready  for  launching  at  Fron- 


282  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

tenac,  but  which  were  still  without  armament.  While 
it  was  not  written  that  Chauncey  was  to  do  any- 
thing worthy  of  record  with  his  increased  fleet,  yet 
had  the  enemy  secured  this  prize  the  situation  would 
have  been  much  worse.  Thus  far  both  sides,  of 
naval  strength  nearly  equal,  had  feared  to  strike  the 
first  decisive  blow.  Had  Yeo  captured  these  stores 
it  is  highly  probable  that,  emboldened  by  his  greatly 
superior  strength  thus  afforded,  he  might  have  worked 
much  destruction  to  the  towns  along  the  border. 
As  it  resulted,  however,  the  two  commodores  con- 
tinued their  play  at  action  till  the  war  ended,  with 
no  harm  to  either. 

The  arrival  of  the  runner  at  Sackets  produced  a 
sensation.  Some  regulars  and  several  companies  of 
militia  were  despatched  to  the  scene.  Among  the 
latter  was  John's  command,  with  which  my  old  one 
was  now  merged.  The  readjustment  had  brought 
Cyrenus  and  Noadiah,  the  ancient  rivals,  into  a  con- 
stant association,  which  was,  however,  unmarked  by 
the  amities  of  daily  intercourse.  And  with  them  was 
Abner,  now  a  corporal,  whose  natural  sorrow  was 
deepened  by  the  estrangement  of  his  superiors. 

Meanwhile  a  motley  crew  assembled  on  the  banks 
of  Sandy  Creek  to  defend  the  stores.  Some  had  guns, 
some  muskets  without  the  requisite  locks,  some  with 
locks  but  no  flints,  some  with  no  weapons  but  pitch- 
forks. The  throng  was  made  up  of  backwoodsmen, 
hunters,  trappers,  farmers  and  boys,  ready  to  wal- 
lop British  regulars,  though  against  heavy  odds. 
However,  reinforcements  began  speedily  to  arrive 
and  there  was  a  reception  preparing  for  the  king's 
men  up  the  creek  as  should  surprise  them  right 
mightily. 

The  lake  shore  in  this  vicinity  has  always  been  the 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS  283 

scene  of  innumerable  wrecks.  At  that  time  there 
stood  a  house  just  south  of  the  creek's  mouth,  which 
served  as  a  beacon  light  and  a  place  of  refuge  for 
shipwrecked  sailors.  An  old  fisherman  kept  the  place, 
and  the  house  was  used  a  great  deal  as  a  hotel  for 
anglers.  The  British  stopped  there  and  secured  the 
information  that  the  stores  up  the  creek  were 
guarded  only  by  an  insignificant  force.  The  custodian 
spoke  truly  as  far  as  he  knew,  but  ever  since  the  second 
attack  on  the  Harbor  the  settlers  along  the  whole 
frontier  were  on  the  alert  and  were  even  now 
collecting  with  marvellous  haste  to  defend  the  prized 
supplies. 

The  British  fleet  lay  off  the  shore  through  Sunday, 
not  moving  up  to  attack  till  dawn  of  the  following 
day,  which  was  resplendent,  the  air  filled  with  the 
fresh  odors  of  the  spring.  On  up  the  creek  moved 
the  king's  boats,  piloted  by  a  patriot  who  had  been 
pressed,  through  fear  of  death,  into  service.  The 
bands  crashed  martial  music;  the  yellow  sunlight 
flashed  upon  the  red  coats  with  their  gilt  buttons, 
glinting  the  white  belts  and  the  polished  stocks  of 
the  muskets.  It  was  a  brave  sight.  Far  ahead  the 
wooded  shores,  on  either  side  of  the  stream,  showed 
no  sign  of  the  opposition.  In  the  distance,  billow- 
ing above  the  tree  tops,  floated  the  American  flag; 
that  was  all,  but  it  covered  a  multitude  of  leaden 
virtues. 

After  a  time  the  boats,  approaching  shallower 
water,  stopped,  discharging  volleys  of  artillery  aimed 
so  high  that  they  cut  the  upper  branches  of  the  adja- 
cent trees.  The  regulars  landed  leisurely  to  secure 
the  stores,  still  far  up  the  creek.  Their  glittering 
garb  made  a  grand  target  in  the  dim  woods. 

It  was  the  old  story.    Englishmen  may  never  hope 


284  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

to  cope  with  the  Yankees  in  forest  warfare.  The 
British  are  born  in  the  open.  Generations  of  Indian 
fighting  have  taught  the  new  world  settlers  the 
excellence,  to  a  reasonable  extent,  of  the  redskins' 
methods. 

No  sooner  were  they  in  the  forest  than  the  British 
were  bewildered  by  a  hail  of  death  that  poured  from 
rifle  barrels  unseen.  They  replied  at  random,  only 
beholding  in  response  dim,  gray  shapes  flitting  like 
shadows  from  tree  to  tree,  too  swift  for  shots.  The 
fire  came  again,  this  time  on  the  flank,  now  in  front, 
next  from  behind.  It  was  perplexing.  It  was  more ; 
it  was  mortality.  Men  lay  writhing  in  agony,  their 
brave  coats  wet  with  a  deeper  red,  and  still  their 
comrades  fell,  mowed  down  by  an  enemy  the  more 
terrible  because  unseen.  And  in  this  unique  battling, 
so  incomprehensible  and  so  destructive  to  the  gallant 
enemy,  the  plowboy  and  the  tavern  keeper  were  equal- 
ly at  home  with  Appling's  unerring  riflemen,  for 
marksmanship  with  us  was  a  religion  and  a  matter 
of  course  in  those  days.  None  of  us  but  spent 
his  spare  hours  ranging  the  forest  for  its  game,  and 
the  brave  red  coat  made  a  better  mark  among  those 
trees  than  the  soberer  one  of  a  buck  or  bear.  So  it 
was  that  death  and  agony  leapt  from  the  muzzles, 
while  those  who  dealt  them  went  nearly  unscathed, 
because  of  flitting  like  incorporate  shades  from  point 
to  point  of  the  screening  foliage. 

And  tireless  among  the  victors  that  day  were  the 
three  old  musketeers,  John's  musketeers  and  mine. 
And,  by  a  strange  trick  of  fate,  two  of  them  nearly 
achieved  a  flitting,  from  which  impending  end  they 
were  rescued  by  the  third. 

The  three  had  been  skulking  about  like  Indians 
and  doing  great  service,  for  not  one  of  them  but 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS  285 

was  a  crack  shot.  Cyrenus  was  fighting1  for  the 
pure  love  of  the  game ;  Noadiah  in  the  line  of  a  virtu- 
ous duty  to  be  done;  Abner,  with  waggling  jaws 
and  funereal  countenance,  with  an  air  of  solemn  resig- 
nation; just  as  he  went  to  church  with  Betsey,  because 
she  did.  But  Abner  was  full  as  good  a  shot  as  any, 
though  why  and  how  he  had  compassed  his  skill 
was  always  a  puzzle  to  me.  For  he  was  ambition- 
less  in  most  things,  and  marksmanship  is  an  art 
that  requires  much  application  and  the  excercise  of 
patience  to  acquire.  But  his  dolorous,  impersonal 
eye  overlooked  nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  splotch  of 
red.  By  and  by,  that  eye,  deceivingly  surveillant, 
saved  two  patriots  for  future  service. 

The  enemy  had  a  detachment  of  red  allies  with 
them  that  day,  which,  though  small,  did  more  service 
than  the  king's  regulars  because  used  to  that  style 
of  fighting.  I  caught  fleeting  glimpses  of  their  tawny 
hides  from  time  to  time,  they  reminding  me  intimate- 
ly of  a  precious  brood  I  knew,  though  I  was  quite 
sure  that  if  they  were  indeed  members  of  that  band, 
their  evil  leader  was  not  with  them,  since  I  had 
information  that  he  was  in  Frontenac  on  other 
business.  At  any  rate,  stepping  swiftly  from  behind 
a  tree  after  a  shot,  I  came  simultaneously  upon  an 
open  space  and  a  thrilling  tableau. 

Cyrenus  and  Noadiah,  engrossed  in  the  grim  busi- 
ness of  the  day  and  evidently  unaware  of  one  an- 
other's presence,  though  within  a  few  paces  of  each 
other,  bent  forward  with  rifles  ready,  searching 
through  the  trees  for  a  favorable  shot.  And  behind 
them,  creeping  up  silently  as  deadly  serpents,  were 
two  of  the  enemy's  tawny  allies,  part  of  a  number 
who  had  gained  our  rear  and  were  stalking  us  at 
our  own  game.  Their  hands  held  knives,  quite  as 


286  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

effective  in  the  back  and  more  so,  in  fact,  than  in 
front  with  veterans  like  these.  The  sudden  sight 
paralyzed  me  for  a  brief  instant — and  then — 

Before  I  could  cry  out  or  leap  to  the  rescue  of  the 
two  veterans,  and  even  as  the  knives  were  raised  in 
readiness  for  the  two  Indians'  forward  tigerish  spring, 
a  shot  rang  out  from  a  nearby  clump  of  bushes  and 
one  Indian  tumbled,  with  a  death  yell,  fairly  over  the 
kneeling  Cyrenus,  crushing  the  little  man  to  earth 
beneath  his  impact.  Almost  simultaneously  with  the 
shot  a  gaunt  form  bounded  like  a  deer  out  of  the 
brush,  with  smoking  rifle  clubbed  over  his  shoulder. 
The  rescuer  landed  just  behind  the  second  Indian, 
he  who  was  to  have  finished  Noadiah.  The  rifle  butt 
came  crashing  down  upon  the  redskin's  greasy  skull 
and  he  was  finished  rather  than  Noadiah,  who  whirled 
ponderously  to  confront  Abner,  still  with  a  visage 
of  the  tombs  and  whose  jaws  paused  not  nor  wavered 
in  their  eternal  allegiance  to  the  relished  weed.  The 
flustered  Cyrenus,  emerging  with  sundry  cursings 
from  beneath  the  other  departed  Indian,  scrambled 
to  his  feet.  The  three  regarded  each  other  in  eloquent 
silence. 

"Betsey'd  say  it  war  the  Lord,"  wailed  Abner. 
"  She'd  lay  it  to  Him,  all  of  it.  But  I'd  lay  a  good 
sher  of  it  to  the  bar'l  of  this  here  rifle  and  another 
good  sher  to  the  butt.  There's  credit  enough  to  go 
all  around,  sech  as  it  is.  But  there  hain't  much 
satisfaction  in  savin'  a  couple  o'  yer  comrades  as 
don't  speak  to  other." 

Cyrenus  and  Noadiah  noticed  the  close  proximity 
of  one  another  for  the  first  time  and  moved  apart. 
Noadiah  drew  himself  up  ponderously.  Cyrenus 
regarded  him  with  a  sour  smile. 

"If  you  two  would  speak  to  each  other  an'  be  rekern- 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS  287 

ciled,"  remarked  Abner,  in  passionless  parlance,  "it 
would,  to  a  sartin  extent,  make  it  up  to  me  fer 
goin'  to  this  trouble  for  yeh.  It's  mighty  onpleas- 
ant " 

"  For  what  you  hev  done,  Abner,"  acknowledged 
Noadiah,  with  pompous  humility,  "may  the  Lord 
make  me  trooly  thankful.  I'm  not  speakin'  fer  him," 
with  a  contemptuous  indication  of  the  grinning 
Cyrenus.  "  There's  some  things — 

"  There's  some  things  worse  than  stayin'  a  widow," 
interrupted  Cyrenus  pointedly.  "  Becomin'  a  wife 
again,  for  instance.  Maybe  this  outcome  ain't  alto- 
gether an  unmixed  blessing  of  the  Lord's  for  some 
parties.  The  way  it's  come  out  in  some  quarters, 
maybe  there'll  be  a  future  wife  in  place  of  a  present 
widow.  And  in  such  case  I'm  sorry  for  her.  The 
Lord  might  better  have  fixed  it  so  she  could  stick 
to  her  widowhood." 

The  face  of  Noadiah  grew  turkey  red  and  he  glared 
ferociously.  But  firing  sounded  further  on,  toward 
the  creek,  and  the  enemies  seized  their  rifles  and 
hurried  away  in  diverging  directions. 

"Won't  rekerncile!"  groaned  Abner,  as  we  hurried 
after  them.  "Ain't  it  damnable?" 

And  I  agreed  that  it  was. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
The  Rope  Job 

Now  the  whoops  of  savages  other  than  their  own 
came  to  the  ears  of  the  British,  for  the  American 
forces  were  aided  by  a  few  redskins  favorable  to  our 
side  on  that  memorable  day,  and,  though  they  ar- 
rived late,  they  assisted  in  contributing  to  the  gener- 
al discomfiture  of  the  enemy.  Almost  simultaneously 
with  their  appearance  came  the  cheers  from  addition- 
al reinforcements  of  militia  from  Sackets  Harbor 
and  Ellisburgh,  crashing  through  the  woods.  It 
was  too  much.  The  British,  until  now  fighting  with 
the  courage  of  despair,  wavered,  broke  and  ran.  We 
pursued,  overtaking  many  of  them.  Some  threw 
down  their  muskets,  begging  frantically  for  quarter. 
John,  of  whom  I  had  seen  little  during  the  engage- 
ment, in  which,  following  the  tactics  of  forest  war- 
fare, each  man  pursued  the  independent  tenor  of  his 
woodland  way,  now  joined  me  as  I  hurried  on  with 
others  in  pursuit  of  our  flying  foes.  Suddenly  he 
uttered  an  imprecation  and  rushed  toward  the  right. 
I  followed. 

In  a  clearing,  near  the  creek  bank,  three  of  our 
own  Indian  allies,  in  whom  the  savage  blood  was 
asserting  itself,  were  pleasantly  engaged  in  scalping 
a  pair  of  shrieking  British  prisoners.  John  dashed 
into  the  midst  of  that  sanguinary  trio  like  a  dev- 
astating cyclone.  I  followed  in  his  wake,  but  there 


THE  ROPE  JOB  289 

was  no  need  for  my  assistance.  By  the  time  I 
reached  there  two  of  the  red  allies  were  rolling  in 
agony  on  the  ground  and  the  third  was  invisible. 
A  stirring  in  some  adjacent  bushes  revealed  the  spot 
where  John  had  thrown  him. 

"Devils!"  growled  the  giant,  with  smouldering 
eyes.  "It  is  a  burning  shame  that  any  government 
should  countenance  the  employing  of  such  serpents 
in  civilized  warfare!" 

We  summoned  aid  for  the  two  suffering  Englishmen 
and  passed  on.  The  affair  at  arms  was  now  over, 
and  though  destined  to  be  practically  unrecorded, 
it  was  one  of  the  most  signal  victories  for  American 
arms  during  the  war,  and  was,  moreover,  an  engage- 
ment in  which  the  British  failed  absolutely  to  gain 
their  object,  except  in  the  capture  of  the  single  trans- 
port before  the  battle,  which  I  have  mentioned.  Those 
who  escaped  could  not  make  haste  enough  to  rejoin 
their  comrades  on  shipboard  and  get  out  of  the 
creek.  Had  our  force  been  larger  and  had  Chauncey 
been  there  we  could  doubtless  have  captured  the 
British  fleet.  As  it  was,  we  had  taken  many  prisoners, 
bringing  them  to  Sackets  Harbor.  No  further  at- 
tempt was  made  by  the  enemy  to  secure  the  stores, 
the  fleet  leaving  shortly  to  blockade  Sackets  Harbor. 

This  brings  me  to  a  unique  incident  in  connection 
with  this  affair,  one  that  tradition  is  handing  down 
as  the  "rope  job."  Among  the  stores  in  the  trans- 
ports were  two  cables  for  the  new  frigate  Superior 
which  were  twenty  inches  in  diameter  and  weighed 
four  tons  apiece.  One  of  these  cables  was  loaded  on 
several  carts,  attached  one  to  the  other,  and  drawn 
by  relays  of  oxen  to  the  Harbor.  All  the  oxen, 
horses  and  wagons  in  the  thinly  settled  region  were 
pressed  into  service  for  the  conveying  of  the  guns 


29o  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

and  stores  to  the  Harbor.  By  the  hardest  of  work, 
everything  was  on  the  road  by  the  Thursday  after- 
noon following  the  battle  except  one  of  these  giant 
cables.  There  was  but  one  wagon  left.  How  to 
get  the  great  rope  to  the  village  was  a  problem. 
A  number  of  men  stood  about,  eyeing  it  with  help- 
less head  scratchings  and  earnest  curses.  John  stood 
with  them,  surveying  the  cable  thoughtfully.  At 
last  he  threw  up  a  hand,  bringing  the  great  palm 
down  upon  the  shoulder  of  a  man  standing  near  him 
with  such  force  as  nearly  to  knock  him  over,  though 
he  was  substantial  enough. 

"I  have  it,  men!"  exclaimed  the  "big  un,"  as 
they  appreciatively  called  him.  "It's  up  to  us  to 
make  useful  beasts  of  burden  of  ourselves."  And 
he  rapidly  explained  his  plan.  It  was  quickly  put 
in  operation. 

There  was  but  one  wagon  left.  Three  pairs  of  oxen 
were  attached  to  it.  Part  of  the  cable  was  loaded 
upon  this  wagon  and  a  crowd  of  men,  having  made 
mats  of  plaited  grass  for  their  shoulders,  walked  be- 
hind the  cart  in  Indian  file,  staggering  under  the 
weight  of  the  great  rope  that  stretched,  like  a  long, 
Gargantuan  serpent,  back  into  the  dim  greenness  of 
the  woods.  Finally  the  men  laid  down  their  burden, 
sleeping  that  night  in  Ellis  village. 

The  next  day  the  bearers  of  the  strange  burden 
made  about  eight  miles,  being  fed  and  lodged  most 
comfortably  by  the  residents  of  the  small  settlements 
where  we  stopped.  There  were  constantly  a  hundred 
men  at  the  task,  working  in  relays.  New  volunteers 
were  constantly  arriving  and  old  ones  dropping  out, 
for  most  could  not  stand  the  strain  for  long. 

But  one  man  there  was  who  stood  out  a  giant 
in  the  task,  and  it  was  John.  He  had  insisted  on 


THE  ROPE  JOB  291 

joining  in  the  work  from  the  beginning,  and  he  was 
the  only  man  who  could  keep  at  it,  unrelieved,  for  the 
entire  day.  It  was  not  bravado.  It  was  simply  the 
man's  wonderful  might  and  endurance,  which  never 
tired.  I  saw  the  strong  men  of  the  northland,  and 
there  were  giants  in  those  days,  try  to  emulate  him, 
and,  ere  the  day  was  half  spent,  be  forced  to  stop 
exhausted,  with  white  faces  and  shaking  knees,  to 
give  place  to  others.  As  for  him,  he  strode  on  like  a 
Titan,  his  back  straight,  the  great  coil  seeming  to 
rest  like  a  packing  cord  on  his  brawny  shoulder. 
From  time  to  time  he  shifted  the  weight  to  the  other 
shoulder,  easily  as  if  casting  z.  pebble.  And  when 
the  night  came  he  seemed  the  freshest  of  us  all. 

On  Saturday  the  cable  was  taken  through  from 
Smithville  to  the  Harbor,  a  distance  of  ten  miles.  As 
we  approached  the  end  of  our  journey,  some  of  the 
men  fell  out,  exhausted,  but  there  were  volunteers  in 
plenty  to  take  the  vacant  places.  As  we  approached 
the  village  there  was  the  crash  of  bands,  the  shrill 
note  of  the  fife,  the  roll  of  drums,  the  boom  of  salut- 
ing artillery.  The  soldiery  and  the  citizens  came 
thronging  to  meet  us.  The  oxen  were  stopped  and 
unyoked,  the  cable  was  hauled  from  the  cart  by 
swarms  of  clutching,  straining  hands.  Hundreds 
ducked  under  the  great  rope  to  rise  erect  with  a  sec- 
tion of  it  upon  a  shoulder.  Now  there  were  as  many 
men  under  it  as  could  congregate  in  a  single  file 
lockstep,  and  we  hobbledy-pegged  it  into  the  village, 
all  the  din  of  the  general  exultation  in  our  deafened 
ears.  We  passed  through  the  main  street  of  the  vil- 
lage, up  a  narrow  lane  that  was  hedged  on  either 
side  by  cheering  multitudes,  for  the  garrison  was 
emptied  of  its  soldiers  and  the  countryside  for  miles 
around  was  there.  With  the  hoarse  shouts  of  the 


29 2    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

men  there  sounded  the  treble  of  the  women;  every- 
where there  fluttered  white  shreds  of  handkerchiefs. 
Something  drew  my  gaze.  Turning  my  head,  I  saw 
her,  with  shining  eyes,  standing  with  Dorothy,  both 
waving  handkerchiefs  in  welcome. 

We  gained  the  shipyards,  and,  amid  a  tumult  of 
shouting,  threw  the  great  rope  down  before  the 
sailors.  Flags  waved,  the  cheering  grew  madder,  the 
bearers  were  lifted  upon  the  shoulders  of  shouting 
friends.  It  was  a  memorable  day. 

The  Superior,  which  had  been  waiting  for  this  cable, 
was  now  soon  equipped.  With  its  appearance,  Yeo, 
who  had  been  blockading  the  port  without  daring  to 
enter  it, — true  to  the  dictates  of  caution  which  actu- 
ated him  in  as  full  measure  as  his  opponent,— made 
haste  to  sail  away. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
A  Wanderer's  Return 

Together  John  and  I  strolled  idly  along  the  road 
that  led,  following  the  shore  of  the  bay,  away  from 
the  village  to  a  point  a  mile  above,  where  were 
located  the  humble  huts  of  some  fisher  folk.  July, 
approaching  its  end  and  loth  to  leave,  had  revelled 
that  day  in  the  warmth  of  an  impassioned  sun.  But 
the  wide  water  yawned  in  the  west  to  receive  the 
riotous,  red  orb,  now  reluctantly  sinking  toward  the 
shimmering  flood,  flaunting  the  while  his  banners 
of  crimson  and  gold  in  fond  adieu  to  the  departing 
day.  Adjacent  thickets  awoke  in  a  world  of  shrill 
peepings  and  mystic  murmurings;  above  burred  the 
whir  of  wings,  for  the  birds  were  hastening  home. 
Down  in  the  marshes,  in  deep  profundo,  outrolled  the 
vespers  of  the  frogs;  far  off  in  the  dim  woods  that 
stretched  nearby  there  woke  the  weird  curfew  of  a 
whippoorwill.  And  close  at  hand  the  hesitant  twilight 
hovered,  reluctant  to  approach,  while  the  glow  of  the 
dying  sunlight  rested,  regally  departing,  upon  resplen- 
dent waters  and  the  transfigured  land. 

About  us,  a  pup  still  in  heart  despite  his  years  and 
grim  life's  score,  roamed  the  formidable  Gypso,  snuf- 
fing busily  and  exploring  odd  thickets;  burrowing 
occasionally  in  the  hole  of  a  woodchuck,  or  maybe 
something  more  virile,  to  reappear  in  a  moment  with 
black  face  well  begrimed,  requiring  vigorous  appli- 


294  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

cation  of  his  forepaws.  He  was  fastidious  for  a  dog. 
Occasionally  he  leaped  upon  us,  muttering  low  growls 
of  canine  satisfaction,  then  was  off  upon  some  fresh 
exploration.  John  watched  him  thoughtfully  as  we 
sauntered  on,  enjoying  the  gathering  coolness  after 
a  toilsome  day. 

"He's  growing  old,  Gilbert,"  said  John,  sadness  in 
his  tone.  "You  don't  notice  it  much,  for  the  pup 
spirit  stirs  in  him  as  you  see.  But  his  eye  is  dim- 
ming a  little  and  the  hairs  about  his  mouth  are  grow- 
ing gray.  Time  is  gradual  in  its  processes,  but  it  is 
also  inevitable.  By  and  by  he  will  be  but  a  slippered 
canine  pantaloon,  lying  toothless  and  old  and  blind 
before  the  fireplace,  shivering  and  whining  in  wistful 
dreams  of  the  deeds  of  a  gallant  past.  And  it  is  a 
gallant  past,  Gilbert,  a  brave  story  from  the  day  I 
bought  him,  a  pudgy  puppy,  from  a  settler  away 
in  the  forest  near  Champlain.  Why,  even  then  he 
would  struggle,  if  imposed  upon,  to  fight  a  pup  twice 
his  size,  just  as  he  would  unhesitatingly  tackle  a 
wood  cat  to-day,  should  I  give  him  the  word.  And 
it  would  be  rough  on  the  cat.  What  tales  he  might 
tell  if  he  could!"  the  giant's  black  eyes  kindling, 
"but  cannot,  since  his  Maker  denied  him  that  gift  of 
speech  which  He  bestowed  upon  we  inferior  animals ! 
Inferior?  Yes,  in  all  that  goes  to  make  that  noblest 
of  virtues,  supreme  fidelity !  Since  the  day  when  he 
first  looked  into  my  face  and  loved  me,  as  I  bore  him 
on  my  arm  into  the  forest,  my  will  has  been  his,  my 
way  his.  It  has  often  led  into  the  paths  of  death, 
but  he  has  never  faltered.  Yes,  he  has  often  led  the 
way  into  them  and  pulled  me  out  of  them  afterward. 
He  has  stood  guard,  sleepless  and  weary,  by  a  dying 
fire  in  the  forest,  menacing  the  beasts  away  while  I 
slept  exhausted.  His  body  bears  the  scars  of  wounds 


A  WANDERER'S  RETURN  295 

from  brutes  and  men  incurred  in  my  interest;  side  by 
side  we  have  borne  the  brunt  of  years.  And  from  the 
beginning,"  and  John's  voice  was  very  tender,  "he 
has  never  failed  me,  never  doubted  me.  He  has  wor- 
shipped me,  for  to  him  I  am  God  !  Can  you  and  I,  boy, 
claim  such  an  allegiance  to  our  Maker?  Rather,  can 
we  look  upon  that  poor,  dumb  brute  without  feeling 
a  deep  shame?  I  have  known  many  men,  and,  speak- 
ing generally,  the  knowledge  has  largely  increased 
my  respect  for  dogs.  And  Gypso  there  has  grown 
very  near  to  me.  It  saddens  me  to  think,  for  such 
are  the  relative  spans  of  merciless  nature,  that  but 
a  few  years  more  and  he  will,  in  the  natural  order  of 
things,  turn  his  sightless  eyes  upon  me  at  the  sound 
of  my  voice  in  the  darkness  and  moan  with  the  pain 
in  his  stiffened  limbs  as  he  licks  my  pitying  hand. 
And  when  he  goes  yonder  my  heart  will  ache  for 
him  even,  as  I  well  know,  should  fate  take  me  first, 
the  big,  honest  heart  of  him  will  ache  for  me  in  the 
loneliness  of  his  old  age.  Old  age  !  I  doubt  not  that, 
if  he  could  know  and  apprehend  it,  he  would  wish, 
even  as  I,  to  fall  in  strength  and  the  fullness  of  his 
power,  rather  than  to  totter  in  weakness  to  the  brink 
of  the  grave,  to  finally  tumble  in,  a  toothless,  senile 
wreck !  And  to  think  that  this,  the  final  irony,  is 
for  what  so  many  pray ! " 

He  was  standing  silent,  hat  in  hand,  gazing  out 
upon  the  unquiet  bay,  for  a  whimsical  breeze  had 
strengthened  with  the  sunset,  blowing  from  the  south, 
the  sky  being  clear  of  clouds.  Moved  by  his  strange 
outburst,  a  rare  thing  with  him,  I  surveyed  his 
great  figure  with  its  powerful  shoulders,  every  line 
eloquent  with  virile  grace  and  surpassing  might.  I 
marked  his  strong,  earnest  face,  the  heavy  beard 
and  the  luxuriant  hair,  black  as  jet,  crowning  the 


296  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

splendid  head.  Surely  time's  ravages  and  the  shadow 
of  death  seemed  far  removed  from  him !  Yet  I 
thought  with  an  ache  at  my  heart  of  the  coming 
time;  of  the  crumblimg  breath  of  a  generation  gone; 
of  the  havoc  of  swift-flown  years.  Ah,  poor,  ephemeral 
clay  that  disintegrates  in  dust;  the  mounds  in 
the  churchyard  decked  with  flowers  by  withered  hands 
while  youth  whistles  carelessly  upon  the  highway ! 

The  last  glow  of  the  descended  sun  had  died  in  the 
faint,  slowly  gathering  dusk.  Near  to  us,  close  to 
the  shore  of  the  bay — at  this  point  cleared  of  en- 
croaching timber — was  a  squat,  mean  hovel,  wearing 
an  unmistakable  air  of  neglect.  Its  barred  doors  and 
windows  bespoke  an  absent  tenant.  In  an  adjacent, 
shallow  cove  were  a  couple  of  ruinous  old  sailboats, 
half  submerged  in  the  water.  A  small  dory  idled  on 
the  beach  near  the  hut. 

John  indicated  the  place  with  a  dry  laugh.  "If 
Miles  Osgood  doesn't  return  soon  to  look  after  his 
property,  there  will  be  occasion  for  an  inquest,"  he 
remarked.  "We  might  confiscate  it,  but  it  is  hardly 
worth  the  trouble.  We  might  have  taken  the  boats 
yonder,  but  didn't  think  of  it,  and  it  looks  now  as  if 
the  winter's  ice  had  done  for  them." 

"As  we  will  do  for  Miles  if  he  should  return,"  said 
I.  "I  am  sorry  he  is  not  in  chancery.  He  is  entirely 
untrustworthy.  What  Carew  and  Beresford  told  me 
during  that  involuntary  sail  of  mine  to  Frontenac 
with  them  merely  confirmed  some  suspicions  I  had. 
You  remember  the  search  we  made  for  him  as  soon  as 
I  returned,  but  he  had  disappeared  for  parts  unknown. 
Perhaps  it  is  as  well.  We  want  no  double  dealers 
on  this  side  of  the  water,  and  a  man  who  furnishes 
boats  to  his  friends,  the  enemy,  certainly  belongs  to 
that  category.  I  regret  that  we  could  not  find  him, 


A  WANDERER'S  RETURN  297 

for  I  would  like  to  assure  myself  that  he  is  not  engaged 
in  similar  pursuits  somewhere  along  the  border.  As- 
surance would  be  more  satisfying  if  he  were  locked 
up.  He  is  a  dangerous  man  to  have  anywhere  in  the 
open.  And  if  he  were  about,  to  find  that  I  wear 
two  names,  it  might  be  awkward." 

"True,"  replied  John.  '.'Still,  do  you  think  he  left 
because  he  feared  his  dealings  had  been  discovered?" 

"I  hardly  think  so,"  I  rejoined.  "There  was  no 
definite  suspicion  against  him,  outside  a  very  small 
circle,  as  you  know,  till  Carew's  talk  with  me  con- 
firmed what  impressions  we  had  and  more.  But 
when  I  returned,  ready  to  act,  I  found  him  already 
gone.  He  could  not  have  known.  And  no  one  has 
seen  him  anywhere  in  this  region  since." 

"He  may  have  gone  voyaging,  on  a  sudden  whim," 
returned  John  carelessly.  "I  understand  he  used  to 
be  a  sailor.  What  does  it  matter  where  he  is?  We're 
well  rid  of  him  anyway." 

"We  are  if  we  are,"  I  commented.  "I  would  feel  bet- 
ter if  I  knew  surely  that  he  were  dead." 

There  sounded  a  loud  report  from  a  thicket  across 
the  road.  A  jet  of  smoke  curled  above  it.  I  had  torn 
off  my  hat,  agape,  and  was  staring  stupidly  at  it.  I 
can  remember  reflecting  confusedly  that  it  was  ruined, 
though  new,  for  a  bullet  had  passed  through  the 
crown. 

There  was  a  great  crashing  through  the  opposite 
underbrush.  John  was  half  across  the  road,  making 
for  the  thicket  with  flying  impetus.  I  hurried  after 
him,  plunging  in.  Low  growls  sounded  nearby,  and 
now  there  arose  a  yell  of  terror.  I  forged  aheadj  to 
burst  in  upon  a  startling  tableau. 

Prostrate  upon  the  ground  sprawled  no  other  a 
personage  than  Miles  Osgood,  with  livid  face  and 


298  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

eyes  protruding  with  horror.  Over  him,  with  bristling 
hair  and  terrible  jaws  not  a  half  inch  from  his  throat 
stood  the  big,  black  hound,  awaiting  only  the  word 
to  throttle  the  grovelling  villain.  John  stood  by  the 
two,  grinning  appreciatively. 

"Thought  you'd  pick  off  one  of  us,  at  least,  did 
you,  Miles?"  he  asked  pleasantly.  "Didn't  see  the 
dog,  did  you?  But  he  saw  you.  How  do  you  like 
him?" 

"Take  him  away,  for  Gawd's  sake!"  quavered  the 
wretch,  shaking  like  a  wind-stirred  leaf.  And,  indeed, 
the  sight  of  the  huge  brute's  glaring  eyes  and  cruel, 
exposed  fangs  was  passably  unnerving. 

"Come  here,  Gypso,"  ordered  John  briefly.  And 
then  he  unceremoniously  collared  the  cowering  Osgood 
and  jerked  him  gasping  to  his  feet.  The  menace  of 
the  hound  having  been  removed,  the  fellow  faced  us 
with  some  restoration  of  equanimity  and  a  species 
of  sullen  bravado.  Of  medium  height,  squarely  built 
and  with  powerful  shoulders,  he  possessed  a  low 
browed,  venomous  face,  with  a  stubble  of  reddish 
beard.  He  was  evidently  about  fifty. 

"And  now,"  remarked  John  quietly,  "give  an  ac- 
count of  yourself.  Where  have  you  been,  why  did 
you  leave  there  and  why  do  you  return  here?  And 
finally,  why  did  you  shoot  at  Captain  Warburton 
just  now?" 

"I  had  a  good  chance  to  go  down  state  on  a  payin' 
job,"  replied  the  fellow  sulkily,  "and  I  went.  I  jest 
got  back.  I  hearn  you  two  talkin'  and  waited  for  you 
to  go  on.  And  when  I  hearn  him  a-wishin'  I  was 
dead,"  with  increased  bravado.  "I  thought  as  how  it 
mout  be  all  right  for  to  try  my  hand  at  makin'  him 
so  himself." 

"Ah,  you  did,  did  you  ?"  commented  John,  his  eyes 


A  WANDERER'S  RETURN  299 

unnaturally  bright  in  the  creeping  dusk.  "Seems 
funny  you  found  it  necessary  to  remain  in  hiding  till 
we  passed  on.  Moreover,  you  have  no  right,  consider- 
ing your  general  cut,  to  object  to  anyone  wishing 
you  dead.  And,  while  we're  about  this,  perhaps 
you'll  tell  us  something  about  those  little  deals  of 
yours  before  you  left  here,  of  renting  boats  to  British 
spies." 

"I  don't  know  nothin'  about :'  began  Osgood 

unblushingly,  but  he  got  no  further.  John  had  step- 
ped forward,  placing  a  mighty  hand  firmly  about  Miles' 
windpipe,  with  an  earnest  and  increasing  pressure. 
The  fellow's  tongue  protruded,  his  eyes  bulged;  his 
face  crimsoned,  then  empurpled ;  his  hands  tore  fruit- 
lessly at  the  iron  fingers  at  his  throat.  A  moment 
so,  and  then  the  giant  flung  him,  a  writhing,  gasp- 
ing heap,  upon  the  ground.  John  was  white  to  the 
lips  with  anger. 

"You  cursed  assassin!"  he  snarled.  "You  lie  in 
every  word,  you  Judas !  We  know  nothing  of  you 
since  you  left  here,  but  I'll  wager  you've  been  in  some 
devil's  business,  and  we'll  find  out  what  it  is !  And 
while  we're  finding  out  you'll  be  kept  safe  for  future 
reference.  Come  on,  Gilbert!"  And  he  hauled  the 
dazed,  half  throttled  ruffian  to  his  feet  and  dragged 
him  to  the  roadway,  Gypso  acting  as  rear  guard.  I 
stopped  to  pick  up  Osgood' s  gun,  which  he  had  drop- 
ped when  overtaken  by  the  dog,  and  followed. 

That  night  Osgood  was  locked  up  at  the  Harbor, 
and,  the  next  morning,  was  sent  a  prisoner  to  Water- 
town. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
When  Women  Dare 

My  mare,  uneasy  at  my  side,  rolled  a  reproachful 
eye  at  me  and  pawed  impatiently.  "Hold,  girl,"  I 
admonished  severely.  "She  is  but  horseflesh,"  I  added 
apologetically,  "and  fears  a  battery,  even  though  it 
be  but  that  of  your  eyes,  mam'selle,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  round  and  childish  ones  of  my  sister." 

"Merci,  m'sieur,"  curtsied  Renee,  raking  me  at  short 
range  with  a  blue-green  broadside,  "though  I  may 
not  speak  for  your  sister.  Indeed,  I  gather  that  she 
can  well  speak  for  herself.  Look  directly  to  be 
quashed,  m'sieur.  You  have  dared." 

Dorothy,  standing  near  by  with  John,  who  cheer- 
fully awaited  my  undoing,  surveyed  me  with  eyes  in 
which  the  round  and  childish  effect  was  intensified. 
Always  a  danger  signal,  it  foretold  annihilation.  I 
braced. 

"There  is  a  calf  at  the  barn,"  she  said  sweetly, 
"such  a  cunning  calf.  It  is  a  week  old.  But  let  us 
remain  here.  Gillie  is  fully  as  diverting." 

Sans  sympathy  from  John,  I  followed  his  example 
and  mounted.  We  rode  away  from  the  house  with  the 
damsel's  mocking  laughter  in  our  ears,  especially  my 
own.  The  twilight  was  falling,  for,  absorbed  in  a 
task  at  the  barracks,  John  had  deferred  starting 
upon  a  mission  of  a  few  days  at  some  of  the  river 
ports  till  nightfall.  It  was  the  evening  following  the 


WHEN  WOMEN  DARE  301 

capture  of  Miles  Osgood.  The  weather  remained  per- 
fect and  there  was  a  clear  field  of  sky  awaiting  the 
candle-light  of  the  stars  and  the  round  globe  of  the 
moon.  I  had  arranged  to  ride  with  John  as  far  as 
Watertown,  where  he  was  to  put  up  that  night  prepa- 
ratory to  proceeding  the  next  day.  My  mare  needed 
exercise  and  I  purposed  to  pass  the  evening  there 
with  John  and  return  later  by  moonlight. 

We  rode  on  toward  the  village,  lazily  enjoying  the 
coolness  that  came  with  the  deepening  dusk.  The 
good  brutes  under  us,  freed  from  the  stable  that, 
through  stress  of  circumstance,  had  been  a  prison 
of  late,  pressed  on  in  an  exhilarating  gallop.  Present- 
ly we  tried  to  ease  them,  but  they  rebelled  and  we 
let  them  go.  Whimsical  as  women,  they  shied  at 
shadows  on  the  familiar  road,  snorted  suspiciously 
at  the  cynical  hootings  of  ennuied  owls.  We  sped  on 
under  the  flowering  stars,  along  the  dim,  weird  way 
that  stretched  its  ghostly  length  interminably  ahead, 
between  solemn  woodland  walls  that  gave  forth  the 
incense  of  balsam  and  of  pine.  It  was  not  long  ere 
the  lights  of  the  village,  as  we  breasted  a  hill,  twink- 
led ahead.  We  were  soon  there.  Proceeding  up  Col- 
umbia Street  we  left  our  horses  at  a  convenient  stable 
and  went  to  the  arsenal.  There  we  spent  the  even- 
ing with  some  congenial  friends.  Under  the  benign 
influence  of  good  cheer  and  generous  potations  of 
old  ale,  we  became  raconteurs.  After  a  while  one  of 
John's  rare  reminiscent  moods  asserted  itself,  and 
till  it  ceased,  we  listened  silently,  hanging  upon  every 
word.  For  he  had  lived  life  to  the  full  in  this  wild 
wilderness  of  his  adoption,  and  his  words  transported 
us  whither  he  willed.  For  all  too  brief  a  time  the 
mood  endured,  and  when  he  had  done  and  became 
but  a  listener  to  others,  I  bethought  myself  that  it 


302  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

was  time  to  be  starting  homeward.  So,  with  a  part- 
ing word  to  John  and  the  group,  I  quitted  them,  and, 
regaining  my  mare,  set  forth  at  a  leisurely  pace  for 
the  Harbor. 

The  moon  had  risen,  showering  its  ripe,  matured 
beauty  upon  the  quiet  world.  It  lacked  yet  two  hours 
of  midnight.  I  rode  out  of  the  settlement  upon  the 
lonely,  wood-fringed  highway  that  led  Harborward. 
There  were  weird  silences,  broken  now  and  then  by 
the  strange  cry  of  some  prowling  animal  of  night 
or  the  dismal  hoot  of  one  of  Minerva's  minions.  My 
mare,  less  restive  now,  proceeded  at  a  more  reason- 
able pace.  I  rode  dreamily  on,  my  thoughts  afar. 
The  rein  idled  on  the  mare's  neck.  She  picked  her 
paces,  sans  any  heed  of  mine.  Ere  I  realized  it  the 
village  showed  in  the  moonlight  a  bare  half  mile 
ahead.  The  mare,  who  had  been  ambling  gently, 
lapsed  into  a  leisurely  walk  as  we  mounted  a  small 
hill.  At  the  crest  I  noted  a  figure,  unmistakable  in 
the  moon's  glow,  approaching  without  haste  and  with 
a  listless  shamble.  A  melancholy  face,  equipped  with 
grinding  jaws,  looked  up  into  my  own  as  we  mutu- 
ally paused. 

"Evenin',  cap'n,"  wailed  a  dirge  of  a  voice. 

"Same,  Abner,"  responded  I.    "What's  up?" 

He  shifted  his  quid.  "Nothin'  much,"  he  averred, 
"only  I  'lowed  as  how  you  mout  be  gittin'  back  from 
Wat'town  village  'bout  now  and  mout  like  to  know  as 
how  ther's  a  mawb  surroundin'  of  your  house." 

"My  house!"  I  exclaimed.  "But  why?  Speak  man, 
can't  you?" 

"I  am  speakin',"  he  drawled  in  a  funeral  procession 
of  creeping  words.  "I  hearn  as  how  they're  after  a 
suspishis  character  they  think  the  girls  has  hid  there. 
The  girls,  they  was  a  standin'  of  'em  off  when  I  left, 


WHEN  WOMEN  DARE  303 

for  your  father  ain't  right  smart,  you  know.  The 
girls  'lowed  I  mout  meet  you,  which  I  hev." 

I  dug  my  heels  into  the  sides  of  my  startled  mare 
and  was  off  at  full  speed  down  the  highway.  Turning 
upon  the  main  street,  I  urged  her  the  faster  and  was 
soon  at  the  house,  facing  the  battle  ground  and  the 
bay  beyond.  Before  my  home  swarmed  an  agitated 
assemblage  of  marines,  sailors  and  militiamen.  Low 
murmurs  sounded  as  I  dashed  up.  I  threw  myself 
from  the  mare  at  the  stable  door  and  made  my 
way  unnoticed  toward  the  group  in  the  yard.  Some 
one  yelled  a  hoarse  defiance  at  the  moment  and  a 
crowd  pressed  forward. 

"Cowards!"  cried  a  voice,  sweet  as  bells,  yet  ring- 
ing with  defiance.  "Ciel !  We  are  women  !  As  you 
are  men,  stand  back  ! " 

A  stirring  picture,  truly,  as  I  hastened  toward  the 
gathering,  which  ebbed  irresolutely  before  my  lady's 
stinging  words.  She  stood  with  Dorothy  upon  the 
broad  veranda,  each  the  incarnation,  bathed  in  moon- 
beams, of  superb  defiance;  the  poise  of  each  alive 
with  that  regnant,  fearless  spirit,  inherent  in  some 
rare  women,  that  braves  the  brunt  of  most  formid- 
able menace  and  cows  the  sons  of  men. 

In  a  moment  I  was  among  them,  shouldering  them 
out  of  my  way  as  I  hurried  across  the  yard  to  the 
veranda.  Gaining  it,  I  turned,  facing  them  furiously 
beside  the  two  girls. 

"Now  then,  you  hounds!"  I  demanded  angrily, 
"what  is  your  business  here?  What  is  the  meaning 
of  this?" 

"It  means,  Gilbert,"  put  in  the  irrepressible  Dorothy, 
"that  they  haven't  the  countersign  and  they  can't 
get  in." 

There  were  murmurs  from  the  men.    "We  want  that 


304  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

stranger,  cap'n,"  called  out  someone.  "We  almost 
had  him  nabbed  an  hour  ago,  and  he  got  away. 
There's  them  as  seen  them  ladies  hidin'  him  in  this 
house.  We  came  for  to  search  for  him,  as  is  our  duty, 
and  the  girls  stopped  us." 

I  laughed.  "It  looks  so,"  I  commented.  "Is  there 
a  single  officer  among  you?  Have  you  received 
orders  from  anyone  to  take  this  course?" 

There  was  silence.  "Then  get  back  to  your  quar- 
ters," I  commanded  sternly,  "and  let  us  have  an 
end  of  this  wretched  business.  It  is  not  the  mission 
of  men  to  try  to  cow  women !" 

Some  moved  irresolutely  away,  but  others  stood 
sulkily  by.  "We  want  that  stranger!"  muttered  one 
fellow  sullenly. 

"You  may  have  him  !"  announced  a  voice  from  the 
doorway,  and  upon  the  veranda  stepped  a  tall,  old 
man  in  the  dress  of  a  trapper.  Renee  gasped  as 
Dorothy  uttered  a  low  exclamation.  "I  regret  having 
occasioned  you  so  much  trouble,"  said  the  stranger 
courteously,  addressing  them,  "and  must  firmly  de- 
cline to  cause  you  more.  Since  these  gentlemen," 
indicating  the  now  triumphant  group,  "knew  that 
your  kindness  had  harbored  me,  there  is  nothing 
gained  by  remaining  save  your  further  embarrass- 
ment, and  that  I  cannot  permit." 

The  tones  of  his  voice,  the  look  of  his  face,  though 
seamed  with  the  lines  of  age;  both  were  eloquent  of 
another,  a  younger  man.  Like  a  flash  I  had  di- 
vined the  situation.  In  the  hope  of  meeting  the 
younger  the  elder  had  dared  this  thing,  arriving  this 
very  evening  only  to  find  John  gone.  Then,  when  sus- 
picion had  been  aroused  and  investigation  inaug- 
urated, for  the  suspicious  saw  spies  in  ever}*  bush 
in  those  stirring  days,  chance  had  led  him  to 


WHEN  WOMEN  DARE  305 

encounter  Renee,  as  I  learned  later.  She  recognized 
him  readily  in  his  slight  disguise,  and,  greeting  him 
warmly,  soon  learned  of  his  plight,  for  he  had  found 
that  he  was  being  hounded.  A  word  from  Renee  to 
Dorothy  sufficed,  for  my  sister  had  often  heard  of 
Renee's  deliverer  at  Frontcnac.  The  damsels  had 
undertaken  the  custody  of  Major  Basil  Aberdeen, 
of  His  Majesty's  service,  with  what  result  has  been 
told.  Now  he  offered  himself  to  the  gaolers.  At  the 
least  a  prison  yawned  for  him.  The  faces  of  the 
girls  were  eloquent  of  hope  deceased. 

But  now  an  inspiration  flashed  into  my  brain. 
That  dual  role  of  mine!  What  possibilities  did  it 
not  contain!  It  had  deceived  the  enemy;  it  must 
now  deceive  my  friends.  But  I  must  compass  it 
without  allowing  the  disguised  officer  to  suspect 
my  double  identity. 

I  laughed.  "Well,  this  is  a  pretty  comedy,  men," 
I  said  in  a  bantering  tone.  "You  all  know  me, 
some  of  you  know  me  well.  My  friend  here  is  upon  a  mis- 
sion of  peace.  He  will  leave  in  the  morning — and, 
mind  you,  he  will  leave  unmolested,  else  you  will 
hear  from  your  superiors !  You  will  go  to  your 
quarters  and  at  once !  I  will  personally  report  re- 
garding this  matter  tomorrow."  I  waved  my  hand 
in  careless  dismissal  and  conducted  our  unexpected 
guest,  who  looked  somewhat  bewildered  over  the  sud- 
den turn  of  affairs,  into  the  house,  leaving  the  crowd 
to  go  muttering  to  quarters.  The  girls  were  over- 
joyed, having  shrewdly  suspected  my  plan  with  my 
announcement,  though  they  were  silent,  for  they  were 
well  cognizant  of  the  risk  I  ran. 

Renee  did  not  learn  of  the  major's  true  errand  to 
the  Harbor  when  she  devised  the  plan  of  secreting 
him  in  the  house.  She  did  not  care  to  know  it.  It 


306  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

was  enough  that  the  man  who  had  delivered  her 
across  the  border  from  a  horrible,  impending  fate 
stood  now  in  need  of  succor  for  himself.  She  knew 
nothing  of  the  relationship  between  him  and  John  at 
the  time,  for  I  had  of  course  observed  John's  con- 
fidence. It  was  long  afterward  that  she  learned  that 
the  episode  occurred  through  the  attempt  of  a  broken 
hearted  father  to  meet  a  long  absent  son. 

Early  in  the  morning,  having  arrange'd  matters 
with  Major  Aberdeen,  I  sailed  his  boat,  in  which  he 
had  come  the  previous  day  from  Frontenac  in  com- 
pany with  a  discreet  boatman,  to  a  point  three 
miles  above  the  Harbor.  There  the  officer  and  his 
boatman,  who  had  not  been  in  evidence  the  preceding 
night  with  its  disconcerting  events,  met  me  and  I 
saw  them  safely  started  for  Frontenac.  He  was 
earnestly  appreciative  of  my  efforts,  though  I  could 
see  that  he  wondered  at  the  influence  which  I  appar- 
ently possessed  with  the  powers  that  were.  As  for 
me,  when  he  had  gotten  safely  away,  I  reported  the 
occurrence  at  headquarters  simply  as  an  addition 
to  the  stirring  experiences  I  had  passed  through  in 
the  role  of  Stranahan  in  the  line  of  communication 
with  the  opposite  side  by  messengers.  So  the  im- 
pression obtained  that  the  major  was  an  emissary 
who  had  borne  messages  of  mine  to  Frontenac  to 
forward  to  Montreal.  The  messenger  was  supposed 
to  have  derived  the  impression  that  I  was  but  a 
lodger,  under  an  assumed  name,  in  my  own  home, 
and,  as  I  explained,  those  of  my  household  had  been 
very  careful  not  to  disturb  this  impression.  For  my 
part,  I  was  assumed  to  have  severely  rebuked  the 
messenger  for  yielding  to  impulse  and  nearly  exposing 
my  hidden  hand  and  to  have  sent  him  away  feeling 
that  I  had  succeeded  in  smoothing  matters  by 


WHEN  WOMEN  DARE  307 

restoring  the  shaken  impression  that  he  was  what  he 
seemed  to  be,  a  simple  trapper,  bound  for  the  western 
part  of  the  state. 

I  told  John  of  the  matter  upon  his  return,  before 
the  rest  had  an  opportunity  to  thrust  his  father's 

name  upon  him  unawares.  "  Had  you  been  here " 

I  ventured. 

"  It  is  as  well  as  it  is,"  he  answered,  his  dark  face 
sombre.  "The  past  is  dead.  It  is  a  ghoulish  thing 
to  violate  a  grave." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
The  Narrows 

Mine  Host  Nehemiah  Wharton,  lord  of  Watertown's 
chief  tavern,  and  of  Dame  Wharton  and  the  bevy  of 
little  Whartons  besides,  was  talking,  or  rather  whir- 
ring. His  distressing  bronchial  affection  was  re- 
ponsible.  It  made  me  nervous.  He  whirred  of  the 
war,  of  consequent  hard  times.  It  grew  intolerable. 
I  drained  my  mug  and  set  it  down,  rising. 

"I  must  be  starting,  Nehemiah,"  said  I.  "Nearly 
star-time."  He  looked  sincere  regret.  His  little  eyes 
involuntarily  swept  over  the  interior  of  the  tap  room, 
all  but  untenanted,  where  of  yore  a  comfortable, 
dram-loving  horde  held  sway  on  each  prosperous 
night.  Now  most  of  them  were  at  the  front.  To- 
night, besides  myself,  the  room  held  but  a  dispirited 
trio,  who  sat  silent,  moodily  inspecting  their  boots. 
They  were  not  buying,  had  not  wherewith  to  buy. 
I  had  supped  generously,  drammed  sparingly.  My 
mare  munched  in  Nehemiah's  stable.  I  was  a  god- 
send, to  say  nothing  of  the  mare. 

I  emerged  into  the  gathering  night,  nearly  falling 
over  a  couple  of  little  Whartons  wrangling  in  the 
doorway.  Nehemiah,  following,  separated  them  with 
a  pair  of  paternal  cuffs.  They  disappeared  with  two 
squalls  that  were  as  one.  Wharton,  who,  in  these 
degenerate  days,  was  now  his  own  stableman,  went 
for  my  horse  while  I  lighted  a  cigar  and  idly  gazed 
out  over  the  broad  plaza. 


THE  NARROWS  309 

The  mare  brought,  I  paid  my  reckoning,  which 
Nehemiah  clutched  convulsively,  and  mounted.  There 
was  a  shrill  babel  from  the  street  and  a  rush  toward 
us  of  scurrying,  small  forms.  My  mare  shied  and  reared, 
narrowly  escaping  trampling  a  deluge  of  additional 
young  Whartons.  Nehemiah  swooped  down  upon 
them,  as  I  steadied  the  mare,  and  there  arose  discord- 
ant wails  of  lamentation. 

I  turned  my  head.  The  substantial  form  of  Dame 
Wharton,  attracted  by  the  din,  filled  the  lighted  door- 
way; shrilling  admonitions.  The  wails  increased  in 
volume. 

"  For  all  that  Nehemiah  has  received,"  I  murmured 
to  the  mare,  "  may  the  Lord  make  him  truly  thank- 
ful, if  He  can." 

Turning  from  the  plaza,  I  passed  down  the  street. 
The  settlement  was  young,  but  I  noted  there  were 
already  a  few  stones,  gray  in  the  gathering  dusk, 
sprinkled  here  and  there  in  an  adjacent  churchyard. 
I  clattered  across  the  bridge,  gaining  the  north  bank 
of  the  Kahuahgo  and  proceeding  at  an  easy  trot 
along  the  highway  that  led  to  Brown's  Settlement, 
christened  for  my  favorite  old  commander.  The 
dusk  deepened  densely  into  night ;  the  stars,  winking 
awake,  grew  gradually  wide-eyed  and  radiant.  Fire- 
flies, tiny  acolytes  of  the  August  night,  glowed  fit- 
fully here,  now  there.  By  and  by  a  bend  in  the  road 
brought  me  close  to  the  black,  swirling  Kahuahgo. 
Grimly  sullen,  it  rolled  beneath  the  stars,  the  chan- 
nel studded  thickly  with  huge  boulders,  about  which 
hissed  the  foaming  waters,  for  it  was  shallow  here. 
Presently  the  road  led  away  from  the  bank  and 
I  heard  from  a  distance  the  faint  murmur  of  the 
river's  flow. 

Proceeding  leisurely  the  four  miles  to  Brown's  Set- 


310  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

tlement,  I  put  the  mare  in  the  tavern  stable,  and, 
avoiding  observation,  walked  unobtrusively  through 
the  village  and  into  the  woods  below  it.  I  pro- 
ceeded a  half  mile  down  the  river  bank,  upon  which 
the  young  settlement  was  located,  following  a  rude 
path  that  had  lately  been  but  little  used.  Finally 
I  emerged  into  a  clearing  of  generous  size,  fronting 
directly  upon  the  river's  edge.  I  could  hear  the 
stream's  faint  growl  far  below  me,  for,  some  dis- 
tance above  this  spot,  the  Kahuahgo  narrowed  and 
denied  between  unbroken  twin  walls  of  rock,  full 
fifty  feet  in  height,  for  a  matter  of  three  miles,  the 
river  broadening  and  spreading  over  lower  land  for 
the  remaining  two  miles  that  intervened  before  it 
mingled  its  waters  with  the  wide  flood  of  Ontario. 
This  stretch  of  rocky  walls  was  called  the  Narrows 
by  the  settlers. 

In  the  center  of  the  clearing  where  I  stood  were  the 
unfinished  walls  of  a  log  cabin,  which  a  solitary  set- 
tler had  begun  to  erect  some  years  before,  but  had 
died  when  the  building  had  only  begun  to  assume  the 
definite  lines  of  an  intended  habitation.  No  one  had 
built  near  the  place.  Other  newcomers,  more  gre 
garious  than  the  poor  chap  who  had  met  his  fate 
here,  had  preferred  to  settle  nearer  each  other  in  the 
village  above.  The  full  moon  had  now  risen,  bath- 
ing the  clearing  in  white,  spectral  radiance.  About 
the  unfinished  walls  of  the  cabin  curled  and  twisted, 
in  serpentine  ceilings,  the  luxuriant  meshes  of  wild 
vines;  a  rank  growth  of  verdure  protruded  from  be- 
tween the  chinks  of  the  stark,  dead  logs.  Beneath 
my  feet,  in  the  mold  of  the  cleared  space,  so  labor- 
iously redeemed  by  now  resting  hands,  rioted  un- 
trammelled nature,  again  triumphant,  in  a  renewed 
jumble  of  lush  grass,  bush  and  bramble.  I  sighed. 


THE  NARROWS  311 

Such  the  sum  of  human  effort.  The  quickened  dust 
that  strives,  till,  helpless  and  done,  it  lies  mouldering 
in  the  quiet  darkness,  while  the  work  it  wrought  in 
its  fleeting  day  crumble  in  their  turn  to  keep  it  com- 
pany in  the  shrouding  night.  And  the  heart  of  the 
world  throbs  on  and  a  century  soon  rolls,  a  single 
crested  wave  in  the  ocean  of  illimitable  eternity,  over 
the  dust  that  slumbers  and  the  poor  little  works  it 
wrought  before  it  fell  asleep.  And  what  is  left  ?  Toil 
entombed,  the  shadow  of  a  dream;  the  puny  finite 
swallowed  in  the  infinite;  dust  of  yesteryears  that  is 
the  sport  of  warring  winds ;  winds  that  wail  for  the 
sum  of  dead  ages,  crowded  and  innumerable;  that 
sigh  for  the  buried  triumphs  of  a  century  past,  even  as 
they  mourn  for  the  vanished  glory  that  was  Rome ! 

A  stealthy  step,  close  at  hand,  broke  my  brief  reverie. 
I  turned.  A  man,  in  rough  garb,  the  brim  of  a  bat- 
tered hat  drawn  well  down  over  his  face,  was  moving 
cautiously  toward  me.  As  I  faced  him  he  wheeled  to 
withdraw  again  into  the  forest.  Undoubledly  the 
messenger  I  expected  from  Frontenac. 

"  Wait !"  I  called  guardedly.  "  It  is  all  right.  Come 
back  here!"  He  halted,  irresolute,  as  I  approached 
him. 

"One  cannot  be  too  careful,"  I  murmured  low. 
"especially  Lieutenant  Stranahan  upon  these  shores. 
It  is  strange  that  I  have  not  come  to  grief  long 
before  now." 

He  nodded  silently.  "  This  rendezvous  seemed  safer 
than  some  we  have  picked  previously,"  I  commented. 
"It  was  getting  too  hot  about  the  larger  settle- 
ments. But,"  looking  at  him  more  closely,  "you 
are  not  the  man  I  expected.  A  new  one,  eh?" 

"No,  he's  in  other  business,"  answered  my  envoy 
gruffly.  "So  I'm  here." 


3i2  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"Good!"  I  answered,  though  there  was  a  familiar 
ring  in  the  voice  that  perplexed  and  disturbed  me. 
"And  now,"  indicating  an  inner  pocket,  "conceal 
these  despatches  which  I  will  give  you,  regain  the 
north  shore  of  the  St.  Lawrence  and  see  that  the 
papers  reach  Montreal  with  expedition.  They  are 
important."  I  fumbled  for  the  despatches. 

"All  right,  cap'n,"  responded  the  fellow,  a  covert 
sneer  in  the  tone.  That  word,  and  in  that  tone !  I 
faced  him,  rigid. 

"Ah,  you  know!"  I  breathed.  "And  you — you  are 
not  the  messenger  at  all!  Who  are  you?"  With  a 
quick  spring  forward  I  snatched  the  enshrouding  hat 
from  his  head.  An  evil,  malignant  face  confronted 
me,  the  face  of  Miles  Osgood ! 

"So,"  I  exclaimed,  "you  have  escaped.    When?" 

"Only  to-night,  cap'n,"  he  replied  with  bravado. 
"I  was  thar  long  enough,"  with  a  wicked  leer. 

"You  were  following  me?"  I  questioned.  "For 
what,  to  murder  me?  Stab  in  the  back  probably. 
You  were  approaching  without  noise." 

"Accident,"  he  answered.  "I  was  makin'  my  way 
back  to  my  own  place.  Was  curious  to  see  who  was 
standin'  here." 

"  You  lie ! "  I  retorted  hotly.  "  You  know  my 
secret !  You  intended  either  to  finish  me  here,  or,  if 
you  did  not  secure  the  chance,  to  betray  me  across 
the  water  yonder !  You  are  a  black-hearted,  treach- 
erous dog!  But  I've  got  you,  and  back  to  prison 
you'll  go  and  I  will  take  you  there!"  My  hand 
sought  a  pistol. 

Ere  I  could  draw  it,  with  the  suddenness  of  a  pan- 
ther he  sprang  upon  me.  I  reeled  back  under  his 
weight,  while  he  sought  desperately  to  trip  and  throw 
me.  Though  somewhat  old  he  was  a  powerful  man 


THE  NARROWS  313 

and  I  saw  that  I  had  a  formidable  proposition  on 
my  hands.  Pulling  myself  together,  I  stepped  out  of 
a  cleverly  attempted  leglock,  and  jamming  a  fore- 
arm against  his  throat,  bore  him  savagely  back- 
ward over  my  other  arm.  He  gasped  once,  then  slip- 
ped out  like  an  eel  and  I  found  my  hands  full  of  him 
again.  He  was  no  indifferent  wrestler.  Locked  in 
close  embrace,  we  plunged  about  the  clearing,  tramp- 
ling the  grasses,  tripping  over  twisted  roots  and 
stumpage,  working  for  an  effective  hold.  A  moment 
more  without  advantage  to  either,  a  desperate  wres- 
tle on  a  narrow,  rocky  ledge ;  a  futile  effort  to  main- 
tain a  precarious  balance;  a  sudden  common  fall 
sideways  and  outward,  and,  with  a  sickening,  breath- 
less whirl,  we  were  plunging,  still  locked  together, 
toward  the  black  water  of  the  Kahuahgo,  fifty  feet 
below. 

The  water  is  deep  at  this  point  for  the  full  width 
of  the  stream,  and  we  had  fallen  well  out,  else  I  had 
not  been  here  to  tell  this  tale  nor  ever  possessed 
descendants  to  hear  it.  When  we  tumbled  from  the 
ledge  we  were  inseparable,  and  in  fraternal  embrace 
we  reached  the  water  heads  foremost.  With  the  cold 
impact  of  the  stream  our  mutual  grasp  instinctively 
loosened  and  we  parted  company  as  the  swift  tide 
enveloped  us.  I  rose  breathless  to  the  surface.  Strik- 
ing out  mechanically,  while  the  swift,  black  current 
bore  me  down  stream,  I  cast  about  for  my  com- 
panion. The  end  of  a  huge  tree  trunk,  evidently 
lately  uprooted  by  the  stream,  which  had  been  high 
that  season,  came  sweeping  down,  appearing  close 
to  my  shoulder.  Simultaneously  there  was  a  soft, 
sinister  thud,  followed  by  a  deep  groan.  I  noted  the 
occasion.  The  trunk  had  come  in  contact  with  a 
dark  object  that  appeared  trying  to  forge  up  stream. 


314  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

In  an  instant  I  was  lying  on  my  stomach  over  the 
great  trunk,  reaching  into  the  water  with  both  hands. 
Their  search  was  rewarded,  for  they  were  immediately 
enmeshed  in  a  thick,  soaked  mat  of  hair.  I  hung  on 
while  I  threw  a  leg  awkwardly  over  the  floating  tree 
and  sprawled  myself  along  it.  Then,  with  infinite 
labor,  I  managed  to  drag  my  recent  enemy,  whom  I 
judged  to  be  half  drowned,  aboard  the  nondescript 
craft.  Blood  trickled  from  the  side  of  his  head;  his 
face  was  ghastly  in  the  moonlight.  At  the  cost  of 
some  effort  I  succeeded  in  disposing  of  him  com- 
fortably farther  back  among  some  branches  and 
left  him  there  to  revive. 

Far  back,  as  we  drifted  silently  down  the  black  river, 
between  the  high,  hemming  walls,  I  marked  the  spot, 
higher  than  the  rest,  from  which  we  had  taken  the 
frightful  tumble.  As  I  looked,  the  figure  of  a  man, 
of  indistinguishable  description  at  that  distance, 
appeared  for  a  moment  on  the  brink  of  the  cliff. 
Undoubtedly  the  messenger,  reflected  I.  He  looked 
about  for  a  moment,  but  could  not  see  us,  who  had 
now  drifted  into  the  shadow  near  the  shore.  It 
would  do  no  good  now  to  attract  his  attention  so  I 
did  not  try.  Presently  he  disappeared. 

We  drifted  silently  down  the  stream,  under  the 
white  moon,  the  river  murmuring  mysteriously,  lap- 
ping the  rocky  cliffs  that  formed  its  shores.  There 
was  the  occasional  splash  of  a  fish  at  play.  Weird 
night  sounds  stirred  from  the  wooded  heights  above, 
interpersed  with  quiet  intervals,  brooding  with  a 
solemn  hush.  Sometimes  the  great  tree  swung  to- 
ward the  adjacent  cliff,  a  branch  or  root  catching 
for  a  moment  in  some  crevice,  but  the  insistent  cur- 
rent always  laid  hold  upon  and  swung  it  inexorably 
down  toward  the  broader  water  below.  I  called  to 


THE  NARROWS  315 

the  silent  man  near  me,  but  he  did  not  answer.  Must 
have  had  a  hard  knock  I  surmised,  which  was  per- 
haps as  well  for  me. 

A  little  longer  and  the  great  cliffs  gave  place  to 
low,  green  wooded  shores,  as  the  river  widened  below 
the  Narrows  into  a  broader,  more  tranquil  current. 
We  drifted  on  the  log  out  of  the  shadows  into  the 
wider,  moonlit  water.  I  purposed  to  make  the  shore 
below  and  proceed  to  the  little  settlement  at  Fish 
Island.  I  glanced  down  stream  and  immediately 
raised  my  voice  in  a  loud  halloo. 

Far  out,  seated  in  a  punt,  was  a  lone  fisherman. 
Of  his  occupation  there  was  no  doubt  as  he  was 
jerking  a  fish  from  the  water  as  I  spied  him.  In  obe- 
dience to  my  call  he  turned,  weighed  anchor  and 
started  toward  me.  He  drew  alongside.  A  shrewd, 
puckered  face  was  turned  toward  me. 

"  Cyrenus,  by  all  that's  holy  !"  I  exclaimed.  "What 
are  you  doing  here?" 

J-Ie  grinned.  "  Things  are  slack  at  the  Harbor," 
said  he.  "  Got  three  days  leave  to  fish.  I  like  fishin' 
and  you  can  get  'em  here." 

"  Glad  you're  on  hand,"  I  acknowledged.  "  It's 
convenient  for  me."  I  indicated  my  companion. 
"  Help  me  with  him,"  I  added. 

We  managed  to  get  him,  an  insensate  heap,  into  the 
boat.  "Osgood!"  muttered  Cyrenus.  He  looked 
keenly  into  his  face,  then  felt  his  wrist.  Next  he  tore 
away  the  soaked  clothing  and  applied  himself  to  a 
thorough  examination  of  the  heart  action.  Then  he 
looked  up  at  me  with  a  peculiar  expression. 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  him,  Cap'n?"  he 
asked.  "Bury  him  here  or  ashore?" 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  I  demanded. 

He  chuckled.    "You've  gone  to  a  lot   of  trouble 


3i6  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

for  nothin',"  he  answered.  "  Why,  man,  he's  dead  as 
a  stone." 

"But  how  did  it  happen?"  I  exclaimed.  "It 
couldn't  have  been  the  bump  he's  had/' 

"No,"  replied  the  little  man,  examining  the  pros- 
trate man's  head.  "That  didn't  any  more  than  stun 
him.  It's  something  inside." 

And,  though  the  surgeons  did  not  take  the  trouble 
to  examine  the  body  ere  we  laid  it  away,  hardly 
considering  it  worth  the  trouble,  one  of  them  told 
me  that  he  knew  that  Miles  had  suffered  for  years 
with  heart  disease.  And  truly,  the  events  of  his 
last  night  on  earth  were  calculated  to  invite  the  best 
offices  of  such  a  malady. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
A  Broken  Dream 

The  peace  of  August,  like  a  benediction,  lay  in  the 
shadowed  valleys  and  on  the  sunlit,  smiling  hills. 
Out  in  the  vast  forest,  with  foliage  stirred  by  the  per- 
fumed breath  of  summer  at  its  full,  brooded  the  still 
hush  of  Nature,  Nirvanic  in  its  calm,  its  great  soul 
undisturbed  by  the  warring  of  the  puny  parasites 
who  swarmed  above  its  throbbing  heart.  Ah,  futility 
incarnate!  We  who  quarrel  away  our  little  day, 
even  as  they  before  us,  whose  forgotten  dust  is 
spurned  by  the  feet  of  the  to-day  which  in  a  breath 
is  yesterday,  while  the  great  Force  that  some  name 
Nature  and  some  God,  lives  on,  eternal,  glowing  in 
its  recurring  green,  year  after  year,  as  on  the  day 
when  man  first  slew  his  brother  and  the  brow  of  the 
murderer  was  branded  with  the  mark  of  Cain ! 

At  the  brink  of  the  bluff  we  stood,  Renee  and  I, 
gazing  out  across  the  still  waters  of  the  bay.  It  was 
the  evening  following  my  thrilling  experience  at  the 
Narrows.  In  the  west,  touching  the  rim  of  the  hori- 
zon, the  red  sun  was  dipping  in  glory  to  his  rest 
in  the  calm  lake,  seeming  about  to  lave  his  glov/ing 
body,  hot  with  his  completed  labor,  in  its  cool  em- 
brace. Lanes  of  vari-colored  light  stretched  quiv- 
ering across  the  glassy  water;  a  retinue  of  rosy 
clouds  attended  the  spent  monarch  of  the  departing 
day.  Through  the  afternoon,  tremulous  with  heat, 


3i3  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

the  breezes  had  been  asleep.  The  lake  lay  slumber- 
ing, mirror-like  and  placid,  touched  with  the  drowsy 
sheen  of  a  millpond.  But  even  as  we  looked,  the  sun 
sank  in  the  distant  water,  the  air  was  tinged  with 
the  first  faint  presage  of  the  cool  of  the  coming  eve- 
ning. There  came  the  breath  of  a  new-born  breeze 
and  a  thousand  tiny  ripples  quivered  where  before 
there  had  lain  silence.  The  first  dim  shadows  gath- 
ered. I  looked  into  the  face  of  the  girl  beside  me. 
The  brilliance  lent  by  the  passing  sunlight  had  died 
in  her  wonderful  eyes,  and  reflected  in  their  clear 
depths,  as  I  gazed,  the  shadows  gathered  with  the 
twilight. 

I  pointed  with  a  laugh  to  the  final  fading  after- 
glow of  the  great  crimson  ball  that  had  plunged 
beneath  the  surface.  The  lake,  swept  clear  of  sails, 
stretched  tenantless. 

"It  is  peace,"  I  said  ironically.  "All  but  these, 
they  tell  of  more  blood  letting,"  indicating  the 
batteries  that  lined  the  bluff,  their  black  mouths 
gaping. 

"Yes,  M'sieur  Gilbert,  and  the  sun  sank  red,"  she 
answered,  gazing  wide-eyed  out  at  the  deepening 
murk  of  the  twilight.  "  It  is  like  that  last  sunset  in 
Paris.  Young  as  I  was,  I  had  a  horrible  fancy,  for 
I  remember  thinking  it  was  the  reflection  of  the  blood 
that  was  spilled  in  the  streets.  O,  my  friend,"  she 
burst  out,  "when  is  this  to  end?" 

"God  knows!"  I  rejoined  savagely.  "How  can  we 
ever  expect  an  ending  when  we  are  misled  by  futile 
incompetents?  I" — but  I  bit  my  lip,  for  I  was  not 
yet  a  private  citizen. 

She  egged  me  on,  however.  "But  Monsieur  the 
Commodore  Chauncey,  has  he  not  again  sailed  for 
Niagara?"  she  asked  me,  dimpling. 


A  BROKEN  DREAM  319 

"True,"  I  assented  morosely.  "And  then,  what 
end  is  served?" 

"  But,"  she  remonstrated,  with  mock  gravity, 
"  Monsieur  the  Commodore,  he  is  a  very  busy  man, 
yes.  He  is  seldom  idle.  He  flits  hither  and  yon, 
like  the  bee." 

"Yet  drones  like  one,"  I  commented  sarcastically. 
"  Moreover,  he  lacks  the  capacity  for  results  pos- 
sessed by  that  admirable  insect.  Mark  you,  mad- 
emoiselle, there  have  been  Perry  and  McDon- 
ough.  There  has  also  been  and  still  is  Chauncey; 
the  latter  as  busy,  I  grant  you,  as  they.  My  point  ? 
Simply  that  there  is  a  difference  between  an  infinite 
capacity  for  work  and  a  capacity  for  infinite  achieve- 
ment." 

She  laughed.  "I  fear  you  to  be  hard  upon  the 
poor  man,"  she  returned  lightly.  "Does  he  not  con- 
tinue to  build  ships  for  our  protection?  Is  not 
the  Chippewa  coming  together  at  Storrs'  Harbor 
and  is  not  the  New  Orleans,  which  is  a  giant,  m'sieur, 
building  here?  What  more  can  the  poor  man  do?" 

"Fight!"  I  responded,  with  laconic  emphasis.  "But 
he  won't,  not  if  he  sees  them  first.  For  that  would 
determine  the  issue,  which  contingency,  worse  luck, 
he  fears." 

"Merci,  m'sieur,"  she  laughed,  dropping  me  a  mock- 
ing curtsey,  "I  believe  you."  Then,  suddenly  grown 
serious,  she  sadly  shook  her  small,  brown  head. 

"I  guess  he  won't  fight,"  she  concluded  mourn- 
fully. Then,  "Why  won't  he,  m'sieur?"  with  a  swift 
return  to  raillery.  "Is  it  because  he  has  a  heart 
that  is  kind  and  cannot  bear  to  kill?" 

"Or  to  be  killed,"  I  responded  dryly.  "It  is  one 
of  the  penalties  of  prominence,  in  time  of  war,  that 
commanders,  whether  true  or  mis-called  ones,  shall 


320  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

be  if  possible  killed  or  captured.  Chauncey  is  deter- 
mined that  neither  contingency  shall  overtake  him." 

"Still,"  she  continued  teasingly,  "you  must  needs 
admire  the  manner  in  which  he  keeps  out  of  the  way 
of  both  of  them.  It  is  superb." 

"Only  because  his  opponent  is  made  of  the  same 
indeterminate  stuff!"  I  answered  hotly.  "If  not, 
he'd  have  been  cooling  his  heels  across  the  water 
long  before  now,  with  many  others  of  us ! " 

She  laughed  in  my  face.  "You  are  red,  like  a 
turkey,  M'sieur  Gilbert,"  she  cried.  Whereupon  I 
became  as  two  turkeys. 

"It  is  perhaps  almost  treasonable,"  she  continued 
with  soft  reproach,  suddenly  sobering,  "but  I  fear 
me  I  can  scarcely  blame  you.  Your  blood  is  of  the 
right  tint,  m'sieur." 

I  bowed.  "So  also  is  your  own,  mam'selle,"  I 
retorted.  "It  is  what  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn 
lamb.  For  as  I  know  your  real  opinion  is  a  twin 
of  my  own,  you  cannot  with  justice  berate  me  for 
expressing  what  we  both  feel." 

"Perhaps,"  said  she.  "But  let  us  speak  of  a  more 
pleasing  subject,"  seating  herself  upon  a  grassy  knoll. 
I  threw  myself  down  beside  her. 

"Very  well,"  I  acquiesced,  tearing  at  the  grass 
with  ruthless  hands,  "but  the  conversation  will  be 
one-sided." 

"Why  so?"  she  asked. 

"Because,  if  the  choice  of  a  subject  is  left  to  me, 
I  shall  choose  yourself,"  I  rejoined,  "and,  in  my 
enthusiasm,  I  should  monopolize  the  conversation. 
It  would  be  a  monologue,  and  you,  appalled  at  my 
adjectives,  would  likely  leave  me.  Perhaps  you  had 
better  choose." 

"I  should  be  truly  sorry  to  deprive   thee   of  my 


A  BROKEN  DREAM  321 

society,"  she  said  demurely,  hands  crossed  and  eyes 
rolled  heavenward.  "Therefore,  I  will  take  thy  sug- 
gestion. Let  us  talk,  I  pray  thee,  of  thee." 

The  quaint  assumption  of  Quakerism,  a  pair  of 
which  sect  she  had  met  at  the  Harbor,  was  irre- 
sistible. "Mam'selle,"  I  cried,  laughing,  "a  truce! 
I  am  undone.  Shall  it  be  your  robin  or  John's  dog?" 

The  smiling  face  sobered.  Its  pure  loveliness,  dim 
in  the  deepening  twilight,  was  touched  with  a  wistful 
shadow. 

"O,  as  to  that,"  she  said  softly,  "M'sieur  John  is 
himself  infinitely  more  interesting." 

I  stared  out  into  the  soft  gloom.  A  few  stars,  as 
yet  pale  dots,  winked  overhead.  Far  off,  over  the 
dark  crest  of  the  environing  forest,  showed  the  round 
wraith  of  a  full  moon,  which,  when  the  night  was 
wholly  come,  would  shine  like  silver.  In  the  shrouded 
lake  below  us  there  was  the  splash  of  a  fish  at  play. 

"He  is  a  man,"  I  muttered,  more  to  myself  than 
to  her.  "A  man,  and  how  many  of  us,  after  all,  can 
be  accounted  such  ?  For  when  we  are  old  we  do  not 
put  away  childish  things." 

"Such  a  man,"  intoned  her  voice  beside  me,  strong 
and  full,  "as  God  must  have  created  ere  he  rested 
the  seventh  day.  Might  and  mercy  welded.  It  is 
grand  and  poetic — and  it  is  terrible!" 

I  gazed  at  her  in  wonder.  The  eyes  of  her  were 
alight.  There  was  that  in  her  face  that  thrilled 
even  while  it  disheartened  me;  the  primal  passion 
of  admiration  that  woman  has  felt  for  power  from 
the  beginning;  the  homage  that  her  nature  pays  to 
the  magnificence  of  might;  that  which  has  come 
down,  a  fixed  and  changeless  thing,  out  of  the  dim 
old  past ;  a  thing  half  savage,  half  divine ! 

"Ah,"  she  continued,  with  shining  eyes,  "I  never 


322    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

see  him  without  the  thought  of  the  gladiators  of 
old  Rome,  of  the  leonine  Richard,  of  Samson  and 
the  lion !  He  is  such  a  giant,  yet  his  touch  is  like 
a  woman's  when  he  wills,  his  manners  those  of  the 
court,  his  voice  deep  and  placid  as  a  pond !  When  I 
see  and  speak  with  him  each  passing  day,  remember- 
ing the  things  I  know  and  the  tales  that  are  told  of 
the  terrific  power  of  him,  it  is  like  a  page  from  some 
impossible  romance.  Why,  M'sieur  Gilbert,  to  think 
that  he  could  take  you,  who  are  far  more  powerful 
than  most,  and  break  you  like  a  reed!  Why,  you 
would  be  an  infant  in  his  hands!" 

"True,  I  should,"  I  assented  glumly,  though  the 
reflection  was  not  comforting  at  the  moment.  I 
stared  in  silence  out  into  the  night  that  gradually 
grew  luminous  with  the  growing  lustre  of  the  great 
white  globe  yonder.  Renee,  too,  seemed  preoccupied. 
We  remained  wordless.  At  times  I  stole  a  glance  at 
her  abstracted  face,  turned  toward  the  moonlit  water. 

Our  mutual  attitude  had  been  from  the  first  that 
of  frank  friendliness.  Of  what  I  hoped  in  secret  I 
trusted  I  had  made  no  sign,  for  there  had  been  noth- 
ing in  her  manner  that  should  have  encouraged  it. 
Pride  forbade  my  figuring,  even  in  the  eyes  of  my 
divinity,  as  a  suppliant  for  love  where  there  was 
none  to  give.  Still,  Hope, — which  usually  dies,  if 
indeed  it  dies  at  all,  only  with  the  body, — whispered 
at  times  of  a  To-morrow,  and  I  took  heart  of  Hope. 
To-night  I  had  yearned  for  her  with  a  wistful  tender- 
ness that  filled  my  soul  as  a  cup  with  wine,  and  at 
first  she  had  seemed  very  near  to  me.  But  now,  as 
I  sat  staring  sombrely  into  the  star-strewn  night, 
with  her  silent  at  my  side,  she  seemed  immeasurably 
away.  The  thin,  gray  wall,  relentless  and  invisible, 
that  rears  itself  with  the  dawn  of  doubt,  stretched 


A  BROKEN  DREAM  323 

between  us,  dolorous  and  dismal.  There  was  a  funere- 
al throbbing  of  my  heart;  the  lassitude  of  discourage- 
ment stole  in  upon  me. 

After  a  time  I  rose.  "Come,  it  is  late,"  I  said 
gently,  and  we  walked  slowly  to  the  house.  Only 
my  father  and  M.  De  Montefort  were  there.  John 
and  Dorothy,  they  told  us,  were  out  strolling.  Ere 
long  the  two  came  in,  having  been  examining  the 
new  barracks. 

I  tried  reading  but  it  could  not  hold  me.  John 
lighted  his  pipe  and  I  followed  suit.  Bah,  it  was 
close  inside !  Seizing  my  hat,  I  left  the  house. 

I  passed  through  the  village,  my  brain  in  a  turmoil. 
Leaving  the  cluster  of  houses,  I  plunged  into  my 
beloved  woods.  Cool,  whispering  breezes  fanned  my 
hot  forehead;  the  soil,  stirred  by  my  restless  feet, 
gave  forth  its  rich  odor;  the  stir  of  startled  night 
creatures  sounded  near  me.  About  me  there  rose,  in 
ghostly  guise,  the  great  gnarled  trunks,  the  pillars 
of  the  green  tabernacle  that  is  God's.  After  a  little 
I  paused,  with  a  shamed  laugh.  No  petty  flurry  of 
mind  could  live  in  such  a  scene. 

Retracing  my  steps,  I  emerged  from  the  woods 
and  sauntered  leisurely  into  the  village.  Approaching 
the  house  I  thought  of  taking  a  final  smoke  ere  seek- 
ing sleep.  I  vaulted  the  fence  into  the  garden,  grown 
high  with  shrubbery  and  the  flowers  that  Dorothy 
loved. 

Drawing  my  pipe  from  my  pocket,  I  advanced  to- 
ward a  rustic  seat  near  the  end  of  the  enclosure. 
As  I  approached  it  I  heard  voices.  A  few  paces  more 
and  I  was  immediately  behind  the  seat.  It  held  two 
persons,  a  man  and  a  woman.  Probably  John  and 
Dorothy,  I  thought. 

I    was  about  to  hail  them  when  a  low  breathed 


324    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

word  from  the  girl  caught  my  ear.  "Yes,"  she  had 
murmured,  smiling  tenderly  up  at  the  eager  face 
above  her  own,  a  face  that  told  its  story  as  if  it 
had  been  letters  of  fire  burned  into  my  numbed 
brain.  For  she  who  was  with  John,  she  was  not 
Dorothy,  but  Renee ! 

He  grasped  her  hands,  a  transfiguring  joy  in  his 
face,  "  Mine  has  been  a  lonely  life,"  he  said  humbly. 
"And  you — do  not  mistake?" 

Again  the  lovely  smile.  "M'sieur  John,"  she  an- 
swered him  softly,  "I  do  not  mistake."  He  raised 
her  hand  to  his  lips. 

And  as  for  me,  creeping  stealthily  out  of  the  gar- 
den, in  deadly  fear  lest  they  should  see  me,  I  gained 
the  street  and  made  my  blind  way  to  the  bluff,  where 
I  threw  myself  down,  drawn  face  in  the  pitying 
grasses  that  were  wet  with  cooling  dew,  writhing  in 
the  black  agony  of  my  broken  dream. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
Out  Into  the  Night 

The  night  was  far  spent  when  I  arose  and  stumbled 
toward  the  house.  The  sky  had  meanwhile  grown 
black  with  clouds,  sullenly  rolling,  like  breakers, 
from  the  west.  The  moan  of  a  rising  wind  sounded ; 
infinitely  sad,  dreary  as  death.  As  I  left  the  bluff 
I  heard  the  hoarse  bay  of  the  surf,  breaking  at  the 
stony  base  of  the  cliff.  There  was  a  breath  of  mois- 
ture in  the  air;  the  spray  shaken  from  the  wings  of 
the  coming  storm.  From  time  to  time  a  livid  flash 
of  lightning  writhed  like  a  serpent  across  the  inky 
scroll  of  the  sky.  Far  off  the  thunder  muttered, 
rumbling  like  war  drums  before  the  bellow  of  the 
cannonade. 

My  limbs,  like  lead,  moved  mechanically  homeward. 
All  through  the  gathering  blackness  of  the  night, 
as  I  lay  prone  on  the  bluff  in  the  grasses, — fighting 
the  sorrow  that  must  ever  make  or  mar,  the  grief  that 
kills  youth's  dream  and  brings  into  being,  for  better 
or  worse,  the  man, — there  had  lain  in  my  breast  a 
stone  while  my  brain  was  burning;  diabolically, 
pitilessly  alert.  Through  it,  whirling  in  letters  of 
white-hot  fire,  there  had  flashed  over  and  over,  like 
the  sword  that  turned  and  twisted  interminably 
over  the  gates  of  forfeited  Eden,  the  maddening 
words,  "Another's!" 

And  that  other !    The  man  who  had  won  her,  the 


326  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

giant  with  the  thews  of  steel  and  the  heart  of  a 
woman;  the  courage  of  a  lion  and  the  courtesy  of 
a  courtier !  My  friend,  and,  more  than  that,  my 
brother;  between  whom  and  my  miserable  self  there 
had  been  knit  the  bond  that  is,  for  the  few,  a  Gor- 
dian  knot !  He,  of  all  men  ! 

The  bitter  irony  of  it  struck  home  and  I  quivered 
to  my  very  soul.  As  I  lay  there  in  the  darkness  I 
had  groaned  that  I  hated  him,  yet  had  known  in 
my  heart  that  I  lied.  For,  even  in  my  misery,  I 
felt  dully  the  absurdity  of  quarreling  with  appointed 
fate,  of  rebellion  against  the  fixed  plan  that  con- 
trols the  rolling  of  the  worlds  even  as  it  guides  the 
little  affairs  of  the  poor,  blind  parasites  who  tenant 
them.  And  with  our  positions  reversed,  would  he 
have  hated  me?  I  knew  from  my  soul  he  would  not, 
and  felt  wholesome  shame. 

As  I  entered  the  house  the  storm  broke  and  a 
torrent  of  rain  struck  the  roof  with  the  crackle  of 
musketry.  I  went  to  my  room,  throwing  off  my 
coat.  I  seemed  stifling.  Pushing  up  the  window, 
I  leaned  out  into  the  storm-swept  night,  my  whirling 
thoughts  as  wild  as  the  sobbing  wind. 

All  the  sweetness  of  her,  all  the  grace  and  beauty 
I  had  hoped  to  possess;  the  memories  gripped  and 
tore  me.  The  scenes  of  our  associations,  the  lodge 
in  the  forest,  the  lonely  graves,  the  meeting  in  Front- 
enac,  the  hallowed  presence  of  her  in  this  very  house ; 
all  these  pictures  and  more, — vain  imaginings  of  one 
life  for  the  twain  of  us, — rioted  in  my  brain  like 
devils;  tormenting,  insatiable.  Into  the  mad  whirl 
came  the  memory  of  that  moment  in  her  father's 
cabin,  when  the  realization  smote  me  that  I  loved 
her;  the  silly  dream  that  followed,  the  dream  of  a 
high,  calm  resignation  should  it  be  ordered  that 


OUT  INTO  THE  NIGHT  327 

she  should  be  another's  than  my  own;  to  be  to  me 
the  ghost  of  a  sweet,  dead  memory,  my  dream  lady  ! 

My  dream  lady,  forsooth !  God  in  heaven !  but  I 
had  grown  since  then !  Truly,  after  all,  I  had  put 
away  childish  things  and  become  a  man  with  a  soul 
for  the  iron  to  enter.  I  clenched  my  hands  in  hope- 
less fury.  I  felt  a  dull,  pitying  scorn  of  the  callow 
fool  that  had  been ;  a  sneering  pity  for  the  miserable 
fool  that  was.  Surely  I  must  have  been  blind,  else 
why  had  I  not  seen  ?  Unrecking  of  realities,  I  had 
builded  a  castle  of  dreams,  with  fair  turrets  of  hope 
fashioned  by  my  own  egotistical  folly,  encouraged 
by  no  word  or  sign  of  hers,  as  I  now  saw  so  clearly. 
And  now  the  crash  had  come,  the  fabric  was  fallen 
and  I  lay  stunned  among  the  ruins. 

And  it  was  the  more  bitter  because  I  realized  hope- 
lessly that  my  dream  lady  could  be  but  a  wraith, 
a  maddening,  haunting  memory  that  could  but  em- 
bitter the  years,  creeping  slowly  to  the  tomb,  with 
the  brine  of  unrequited  longing.  My  dream  lady ! 
It  had  been  a  pretty  fancy,  truly;  the  fancy  that 
had  come  to  a  sensitive,  imaginative  boy,  in  one 
of  those  odd,  brief  moments  of  mental  and  spiritual 
exaltation  which  come  in  a  warm  glow  that  lifts 
the  spirit,  for  the  moment,  to  the  heights,  where 
nothing  seems  impossible,  and  then  in  a  flash  is 
gone,  leaving  the  thrilling  clay  to  cool  again  among 
the  fleshpots.  For  we  are  only  human,  God 
help  us ! 

Such  a  glow  I  had  felt,  but  it  had  faded,  to  be 
succeeded  by  that  other  that  is  the  common  heritage 
of  men.  For  it  was  herself  I  craved,  not  a  chimera; 
herself,  warm,  living;  the  light  of  her  eyes  and  the 
glory  of  her  face;  her  lips,  her  love  and  all  the  rare, 
fair  sweetness  of  her.  A  man,  I  loved  a  woman,  and 


328  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

to  behold  her  slipping  from  me,  out  into  an  alien 
current,  was  madness. 

I  laughed  at  the  bitter  irony  of  it,  a  sound  that 
rang  strangely  in  my  own  ears,  recalling  me  to  my 
surroundings.  It  was  as  if  I  had  partially  awakened 
from  a  hideous  nightmare.  I  was  conscious  of  lean- 
ing far  out  of  the  window,  of  the  storm  beating  in 
my  face,  of  soaked  clothing  that  clung  dankly  to 
me,  of  chilling  rivulets  of  water  trickling  down  my 
neck  and  breast.  I  turned  from  the  window  and 
threw  myself  upon  the  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  The 
long  hours  crawled  by,  like  sluggish  serpents,  while 
I  lay  inert,  spent  with  the  turmoil  that  raged  within 
me;  living  over  the  past  with  its  bitter  sweetness, 
recoiling  from  the  present  with  its  blackness  of  dark- 
ness that  appalled  me,  gazing  into  the  barren  future 
as  if  with  blinded  eyes.  Hours  dragged  like  ages 
till  the  gray  dawn,  cheerless  with  rain,  rent  the  black 
veil  overhead,  ushering  in  the  dispirited  day. 

Inaction  grew  intolerable.  I  rose,  and,  heedless 
of  the  rain,  left  the  house  quietly  and  made  my 
way,  with  nervous  haste,  to  the  bluff.  Great  smash- 
ing surges  rolled  in,  thundering  against  the  long, 
gray  wall,  flinging  their  spray  far  up  on  the  face 
of  the  cliff.  The  wind  swept  by,  unwearied,  over 
the  lake,  over  the  soaked,  bending  grasses  of  the 
clearing,  finally  moaning  through  the  interlaced 
branches  of  the  forest  beyond.  Somehow  the  wildness 
calmed  me  and  brought  a  shade  of  peace. 

At  last  mindful  of  appearances,  I  returned  to  the 
house,  entering  without  disturbing  any  one.  A  little 
later  and  they  were  astir.  Nerving  for  the  ordeal, 
I  put  myself  to  rights  and  descended  to  breakfast. 
I  explained  my  haggard  appearance  by  a  headache 
and  sleepless  night,  a  plea  which  was  literally  true. 


OUT  INTO  THE  NIGHT  329 

Renee  and  Dorothy,  very  solicitous,  were  bent  upon 
procuring  remedies.  Renee,  especially,  displayed  a 
concern  which  was,  to  my  mind,  so  maternal  or 
sisterly  at  the  least,  that  it  added  to  my  misery. 
Finally,  excusing  myself,  I  left  the  house  abruptly 
to  plunge  into  work  which  could  not  but  be  a  relief. 

John  remained  behind.  His  duties  were  not  pressing 
just  now,  and,  I  told  myself  bitterly,  he  could  well 
afford  to  remain  as  long  as  he  wished.  A  sudden 
rush  of  self-disgust  assailed  me.  What  a  cur  I  was, 
to  be  sure;  what  a  cur ! 

Toward  noon  I  was  summoned  to  headquarters 
by  General  Izard.  I  found  him  in  his  office,  the  room 
where,  long  ago,  I  had  been  commissioned  by  General 
Brown  to  go  to  Frontenac. 

"Captain  Warburton,"  said  the  general,  "I  know 
of  you  as  a  brave  and  resourceful  man." 

I  made  silent  acknowledgment.  Somehow  it  did  not 
matter  so  much  now. 

"We  are  about  to  consider  a  most  serious  matter," 
he  continued  gravely.  "There  is,  as  you  know,  great 
cause  to  fear  a  British  invasion  this  fall.  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  not  only  this  port,  but  every 
one  of  importance  on  the  lake  and  the  upper  St. 
Lawrence  is  threatened.  It  stands  us  in  good  stead 
to  learn  all  possible  facts  regarding  this." 

I  assented  silently. 

"You  are  attached  to  the  Secret  Service  of  the 
Army  of  the  North,"  he  pursued,  "and,  owing  to  the 
peculiar  circumstances  surrounding  your  special 
sphere  of  usefulness,  you  are  the  man  to  procure 
the  information  necessary  to  us.  But  it  is  a  perilous 
mission,  so  perilous  that  I  will  stipulate  that  your 
decision  whether  you  will  undertake  it  rests  with 
yourself." 


I  bowed. 

"The  mission  involves  more  than  a  swift  dush 
across  the  border  and  a  quick  return,"  he  went  on. 
"Whoever  goes,  it  will  entail  the  taking  of  adequate 
time  to  learn  the  plans,  fighting  strength  and  com- 
plete resources  of  the  enemy  from  Montreal  to  Front- 
enac.  Your  role  of  Stranahan,  which  you  have  so 
successfully  maintained  up  to  the  present  time,  ren- 
ders you,  for  reasons  known  to  both  of  us,  the  best 
man  for  the  mission.  Still,  if  you  would  rather  not, 
I  shall  seek  some  one  else,  but  I  will  send  no  man 
unwillingly  upon  this  errand." 

"You  need  seek  no  further,"  I  said  quietly. 

"Good!"  he  rejoined.  "It  will  be  necessary  for 
you  to  proceed  overland  to  Ogdensburgh  and  drop 
down  the  river  from  there  in  a  boat  that  will  be 
ready  for  you.  To  start  above  that  port  would 
be  dangerous  on  account  of  the  Prescott  batteries 
and  the  activity  of  the  enemy  on  the  upper  river. 
Land  at  whatever  Canadian  point  above  Montreal 
your  judgment  may  approve,  acquaint  yourself  with 
matters  in  that  town,  and  then  make  your  way, 
with  such  deliberation  as  you  require,  up  the  river 
to  Frontenac.  Owing  to  the  present  vigilance  on 
the  lake,  you  will  have  to  make  your  departure  from 
there  as  best  you  can.  Secure  full  information.  Con- 
sidering your  capability  and  experience,  I  do  not 
feel  that  you  require  more  specific  directions.  Start 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"I  can  start  to-night,"  I  answered. 

"Good-by  and  good  luck  attend  you,"  he  said 
as  we  saluted.  I  left  the  office. 

I  welcomed  the  mission.  It  required  all  my  re- 
source and  would  divert  my  mind  from  my  luck- 
less affair.  I  was  not  morbid  enough  to  desire  to 


OUT  INTO  THE  NIGHT  331 

hug  my  misery  in  monotony  at  home.  I  was  glad 
the  word  had  come  to  bestir  myself  on  the  other 
side.  I  needed  it. 

Moreover,  I  considered  that  my  chances  for  execut- 
ing the  commission  were  good,  for  the  reasons  I 
have  explained  in  the  foregoing  pages  of  this  record. 
I  knew  that  I  was  still  supposed  to  be  the  luckless 
Stranahan,  and,  only  a  month  before,  had  met  by 
appointment  some  representatives  of  that  officer's 
chief,  from  Montreal,  at  Prescott.  Not  to  have  kept 
the  appointment  would  have  aroused  suspicion,  so, 
mustering  what  bravado  I  could  command,  and  I 
had  a  little  in  those  days,  I  had  met  them.  We 
conferred  and  parted,  and,  through  rare  good  luck, 
they  had  returned  to  Montreal  suspecting  nothing. 
I  had  sent  additional  messages  since  and  was  con- 
fident that  Stranahan  was  still  in  the  good  graces 
of  the  British  secret  service.  Truly,  it  was  a  merry 
comedy,  but  there  was  a  noose  in  the  last  act,  should 
fortune  fail  me.  Still,  the  episode  with  John's  father 
had  passed  without  his  having  occasion  to  suspect 
me  of  anything  unusual,  and,  as  for  Osgood,  who 
might  have  betrayed  if  he  could  not  kill  me,  had 
not  a  kind  Providence  removed  him  from  my  path 
only  two  nights  agone? 

I  made  my  preparations.  I  resolved  to  engage  a 
sailboat  to  take  me  to  Port  Putnam  that  night, 
starting  late.  From  there  I  would  proceed  overland 
to  Ogdensburgh,  at  which  port  I  would  secure  my 
boat  and  drop  down  the  river  toward  Montreal, 
as  planned. 

The  day  continued  gloomy,  though  the  rain  abated. 
I  told  them  at  the  house  that  I  should  leave  that 
night  on  a  mission  that  would  take  some  time, 
though  I  did  not  explain  its  import.  All  expressed 


332  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

concern  and  anxiety  for  my  welfare.  Renee's  eyes 
sought  mine  with  a  troubled  expression.  I  caught 
myself  wondering  if,  after  all,  she  had  noted  my 
presence  in  the  garden  the  previous  night. 

By  evening  my  arrangements  were  made.  My 
Stranahan  outfit,  including  the  valuable  papers  that 
might  be  handy  one  fine  day  to  prove  that  I  was  not 
I,  but  another,  was  packed  ready  to  hand.  I  would 
assume  the  character  after  leaving  Ogdensburgh. 

After  the  late  supper  I  left  the  house  abruptly  to 
avoid  godspeeds,  which  I  detested.  I  walked  through 
the  village  toward  the  woods,  bending  my  steps  in 
the  direction  of  Fish  Island,  at  the  extreme  end  of 
the  long  bay  that  stretched  inshore  for  several  miles. 
The  rain  had  entirely  ceased,  but  a  brisk  northwest- 
erly wind  drove  a  bank  of  clouds,  in  ragged  masses, 
like  dense  smoke  across  the  sky. 

A  step  padded  near  me,  a  soft  red  glow  showing 
next  me  in  the  night.  A  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke 
floated  benignly  in  my  face. 

"Where  is  it  this  time,  Gilbert?"  asked  John.  He 
was  privileged.  "Montreal,"  I  replied,  falling  into 
step  with  him,  "and  from  there  up  the  river  to 
Frontenac.  They  want  to  see  what  there  is  of  this 
threatened  invasion." 

"Risky  business,"  he  growled.  "If  we  had  gone 
about  it,  Gilbert,  there  would  have  been  nothing 
left  for  them  to  invade  with." 

"Quite  probable,"  I  replied  dryly.  "But  we  didn't, 
nor  will." 

"I  guess  you're  right,"  he  answered  with  a  sigh. 
"Skim  milk  and  dishwater." 

"Wind  and  whiskey,  whiskey  and  wind!"  I  re- 
joined savagely,  kicking  at  a  twisted  root  that  had 
all  but  thrown  me.  He  grunted. 


OUT  INTO  THE  NIGHT  333 

We  were  entering  the  sodden,  shadowed  woods. 
Suddenly  he  paused.  "Gilbert,"  he  said,  "I  want 
to  tell  you  something." 

"You  needn't,  John,"  I  answered,  steadying  my 
voice,  while  my  heart  tightened.  "I  know  it  already." 
I  was  glad  my  face  was  in  the  gloom. 

"Ah,  then  she  told  you!"  His  tone  was  one  of 
unaffected  delight.  "Then  I  know  you  will  congratu- 
late me."  His  hand  sought  my  own,  crushing  it  in 
a  mighty  clasp. 

I  stared.  He  was  no  dissembler.  He  actually  be- 
lieved that  I  was  pleased.  Pleased !  Had  he  for- 
gotten the  day  in  the  forest  when  we  stood  over 
what  we  thought  to  be  her  grave?  No,  he  as- 
suredly had  not,  but 

I  saw  it  now.  I  was  still  young  and  he  was  much 
older  than  I.  He  had  taken  it  for  a  mere  boyish 
passion,  by  now  outgrown.  And  I  could  not  blame 
him,  for  since  Renee  had  come  to  the  Harbor,  now 
so  long  before,  I  believed  I  had  given  no  sign  that 
she  virtually  possessed  me  should  she  will.  I  could 
almost  doubt  that  she  herself  knew  it.  As  for  Doro- 
thy,— but  Dorothy  was  a  little  tease  from  infancy. 
And  now,  when  the  iron  had  entered  my  soul,  he 
stood  by  me,  and,  in  all  his  open  frankness,  he  asked 
me  to  congratulate  him !  Ah,  well,  it  was  better 
so !  I  wrung  his  hand. 

"I  do  congratulate  you,  John,"  I  said,  and  I  thank 
God  that  my  voice  rang  true.  "Be  worthy  of  her." 

"Be  sure  of  that,"  he  answered  quietly,  and  silence 
fell  between  us. 

Strange,  after  all,  that  he  happened  to  follow  me 
that  night,  into  the  ghostly  woods.  A  little  thing, 
yet  by  that  whirl  of  the  wheel  of  fate  the  currents 
of  his  life  and  mine  were  destined  to  be  diverted  into 


334    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SIGNEUR 

strange  channels,  undreamed  of,  that  wound  into  the 
shadows. 

We  continued  to  walk  through  the  forest,  finally 
fetching  up  at  a  little  lean-to,  built  by  choppers  in  the 
neighborhood  who  had  cut  trees  for  the  ribs  of  the 
battleships.  We  entered,  throwing  ourselves  down 
upon  a  rude  bed  of  poles  and  fragrant  balsam.  Close 
at  hand  we  could  hear  the  lapping  of  water,  for 
we  were  not  far  from  the  shore  of  the  bay.  John 
smoked.  I  reached  in  my  pocket  for  the  means  to  the 
same  end.  We  reclined  there,  smoking  and  chat- 
ting of  everything,  of  nothing.  Perhaps  an  hour 
passed. 

Suddenly  John  raised  his  hand.  "Hark!"  he  mut- 
tered. "What's  that?" 

"What's  what?"  I  returned  drowsily,  for  the  lack 
of  sleep  had  begun  to  assert  itself. 

"  Thought  I  heard  voices,"  he  answered.  "  Away 
up  yonder." 

"Bah!"  I  replied,  settling  back  comfortably  upon 
the  balsam.  "It's  the  breeze." 

"No,"  he  said  decidedly.  "Hark!  there  it  is 
again."  He  listened  a  moment.  "  Can't  you  hear  a 
murmur?" 

"Not  a  murmur,"  I  replied,  having  strained  my 
ears.  "  John,  you  must  quit  it.  You  must  have  been 
fairly  pouring  it  down." 

He  rose.  "  I'm  going  to  investigate,"  he  announced. 
"Want  to  come?" 

"No,"  I  replied  chaffingly,  "I  want  to  smoke. 
Bring  me  what  you  find."  He  smiled  and  stepped 
outside,  his  faint  footfalls  dying  away  into  silence. 

I  rested,  watching  the  glow  of  my  pipe  bowl.  I 
could  dreamily  imagine  the  smoke  curling  upward  in 
the  murk.  Now  the  black  void  became  shot  through 


OUT  INTO  THE  NIGHT  335 

and  through  with  light ;  there  bent  over  me  the  arch 
of  the  blue  sky.  The  cloud  wreaths  expanded,  then 
separated  fluffily,  floating  in  little  white  patches, 
which,  as  I  gazed,  grew  into  a  cloud  of  winging 
pigeons,  when 

I  sprang  up  with  a  distinct  shock.  All  was  dark 
about  me.  My  foot  struck  something.  I  groped, 
picking  up  the  object.  It  was  my  pipe;  no  spark 
remained  within  the  bowl,  which  felt  cold  in  my 
fingers. 

Slowly  my  dazed  senses  awoke.  "John!"  I  called. 
There  was  silence. 

I  stepped  out  into  the  woods,  calling  him  again. 
There  was  no  answer.  The  wind  moaned  in  the 
branches  over  me.  I  walked  down  to  the  shore,  look- 
ing out  across  the  ruffled  bay,  dim  in  the  gloom.  It 
stretched,  faintly  spectral,  before  me;  like  the  shore, 
destitute  of  life. 

Perplexed  and  a  little  irritated,  I  walked  back  to- 
ward the  village.  "He  must  have  gone  back,  but 
why  did  he  leave  me?"  I  muttered.  "Or,  if  not,  why 
is  he  mooning  in  the  woods  on  a  night  like  this?" 
Which  was  a  case  of  the  pot  and  the  kettle,  since  it 
was  one  of  my  own  most  inveterate  habits.  Probably 
he  had  come  across  something  that  had  interested 
him  and  had  wandered  away.  He  was  fully  as  irre- 
sponsible as  myself,  under  like  circumstances,  when 
he  got  into  the  woods. 

I  made  all  haste  to  my  boat,  where  my  outfit  had 
been  previously  placed.  I  tumbled  into  it,  wondering 
how  long  I  had  slept.  I  learned  ere  I  could  ask. 

"Holy  Jehosaphat!"  grumbled  my  steersman,  an 
old  salt  of  the  town,  "thought  you  was  never  comin'. 
It's  most  midnight."  And  we  cast  off,  sailing  out 
into  the  night.  We  rounded  the  point,  cleaving  the 


336    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

long  swells  of  the  bay.  He  knew  the  lake  to  its  last 
cranny. 

About  five  miles  out  we  heard  behind  us  the  sound 
of  waves  cleft  by  the  prow  of  an  approaching  boat. 
Almost  before  we  could  turn  our  heads  it  was  along- 
side, and,  in  a  moment  more,  was  past.  It  was  a 
schooner,  far  larger  than  our  own  small  craft.  It 
drew  rapidly  ahead.  Some  shadowy  figures  stood  on 
the  deck. 

"  Hey,  you,  where  you  bound?"  cried  my  steersman, 
squinted  eyes  trying  to  pierce  the  darkness. 

"None  of  your  d d  business!"  came  insolently, 

in  a  voice  that  boomed. 

I  started  violently.    I  knew  that  voice. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
The  Lion  Caged 

It  had  come  as  I  had  planned  thus  far,  without 
mishap.  I  was  again  approaching  Frontenac,  but 
this  time  from  her  own  side.  The  last  stop  of  the 
journey  was  close  at  hand.  A  day  or  two  in  Fronte- 
nac, and  then  for  home. 

Reaching  Port  Putnam,  as  I  had  arranged,  I  had 
procured  a  horse  and  journeyed  to  Ogdensburgh, 
where  I  found  my  boat  and  dropped  down  the  river. 
Landing  some  distance  above  Montreal,  I  made  my 
way  cautiously  into  the  city.  I  spent  only  such 
time  as  was  absolutely  necessary  there,  prosecuting 
my  investigations  by  night  and  being  as  unobtrusive 
as  possible  in  the  day  time,  as  discretion  demanded. 
I  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  when  I  had  left  the  town 
safely  behind  me. 

I  proceeded  leisurely  up  the  river,  by  horse  and 
post,  as  a  civilian,  which  role  I  had  assumed  when 
too  uncomfortably  close  to  Montreal.  It  was  not  till 
I  reached  Prescott  that  I  deemed  it  expedient  to 
appear  as  Stranahan.  It  was  necessary  there,  for 
they  thought  they  knew  me.  So  I  slipped  into  the 
role  again,  and,  after  having  secured  the  information 
I  wanted,  continued  up  the  river  to  Frontenac. 

Securing,  by  way  of  variety,  a  Canadian  boatman 
just  below  the  Thousand  Isles,  I  had  him  bring  me  up 
the  river,  through  the  north  channel,  to  the  lake, 


338  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

thoroughly  enjoying  the  trip  among  this  marvellous 
chain  of  beauty  spots.  I  had  him  land  me  just  be- 
low the  town,  quietly  to  approach  it  with  due  cau- 
tion. I  made  my  way  through  the  woods  to  the 
main  road.  An  autumnal  wine  was  in  the  air;  al- 
ready brilliant  patches  showed  here  and  there  among 
the  leaves.  A  squirrel  whisked  up  the  trunk  of  a 
maple,  darting  startled  beady  eyes  at  me.  I  threw 
myself  down  upon  my  back  on  a  bed  of  pine  needles, 
looking  idly  up  at  him. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  rush  out  of  the  woods. 
Something  sprawled  over  me,  lapping  my  face,  nearly 
smothering  me.  I  scrambled  to  my  feet.  A  great, 
gaunt  hound  capered  about  me.  John's  Gypso,  by 
all  that  was  holy !  I  stared. 

"How  are  ye,  Captain?"  inquired  a  dry,  cracked 
voice  near  me,  low  and  cautiously.  I  started  vio- 
lently and  turned.  He  stood  confronting  me,  grin- 
ning. 

"Cyrenus!"  I  exclaimed.    "What  the— 

"  For  a  purpose,  Captain,"  said  he,  with  a  certain 
solemnity.  "I  have  a  mission;  in  fact,  two  mis- 
sions." 

"  Where  is  your  company  ?"  I  asked.  "  Why  are  you 
not  with  it?" 

"In  Sackets,  at  least  when  I  left,"  he  answered. 
"My  time  expired,  Captain." 

For  the  first  time  I  marked  the  significance  of  his 
uniform,  which  was  that  of  a  British  infantryman. 
"What  are  you  doing  on  this  side  in  that  garb?"  I 
demanded,  in  swift  anger. 

"Why,  it's  simple  enough,"  he  replied  with  a  grin. 
"  I've  enlisted  with  the  reds,  that's  all." 

"You  renegade!"  I  sneered.  "Now  I  suppose  you 
will  consider  it  your  duty  to  place  me  under  arrest, 


THE  LION  CAGED  339 

won't  you?  Well,  you'll  be  kept  busy  doing  it.  I 
suppose  the  old  love  grew  too  strong!  I  remember 
you  have  been  before  a  member  of  the  red-coated 
crew!" 

"Then  which  side  am  I  a  renegade  to?"  he  asked, 
a  grin  cracking  the  leathery  face  of  him,  an  odd 
twinkle  in  his  little  eyes. 

"To  both!"  I  answered,  in  disgust.  "The  term 
'soldier  of  fortune'  is  a  synonym  for  sneaking 
hound!" 

"Thankee,  Captain,"  he  replied,  his  tranquillity 
strangely  undisturbed  for  a  man  of  so  peppery  a 
temper  as  I  knew  he  possessed.  "  Now,  perhaps, 
seein'  you've  had  your  say,  you'll  shut  your  mouth 
long  enough  for  me  to  explain." 

"Why,  confound  your  insolence!"  I  ejaculated. 
"How  can  you  explain?" 

"It's  easy,"  he  retorted.  "I've  enlisted,  it's  true, 
with  armies  I  fought  with  long  before  you  began 
squalling  for  your  pap.  And  bear  in  mind,  young 
man,  that  before  that,  I  fought  in  the  cause  with 
your  father,  to  wrest  our  land  yonder  from  the 
British.  Do  you  think  I  am  here  to  bear  arms 
against  your  flag  and  mine?  No!  When  I  am 
through  here  I  shall  desert,  cut  sticks  and  cross  the 
lake  again  to  re-enlist." 

"Then  why  are  you  here?"  I  burst  out,  though 
feeling  somewhat  less  sure  of  appearances.  For  the 
odd  dignity  that  had  so  impressed  me  at  the  time  of 
his  enlistment  again  sat  upon  and  transformed  Cyre- 
nus.  He  stood  very  erect,  his  little  spare  figure  stiff 
as  a  ramrod.  His  queer,  small,  puckered  face,  which 
might  have  equally  belonged  to  a  man  of  fifty  or  of 
seventy,  was  enigmatical. 

"  For  two  reasons,  my  suspicious  young  cock,"  he 


340  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

answered  dryly.  "  The  first,  to  even  a  score  with  an 
old  enemy  I've  learned  by  accident  is  here  in  Fronte- 
nac.  The  second,  to  do  what  I  can  toward  getting 
out  of  a  bad  scrape  a  certain  friend  of  yours." 

"Of  mine!"  I  exclaimed.    "Why,  who  is  it?" 

"A  valued  captain  of  militia,  until  lately  stationed 
at  Sackets  Harbor,  New  York,"  he  answered,  watch- 
ing my  changing  face  with  malicious  satisfaction, 
born,  and  small  wonder,  of  the  things  I  had  said  to 
him.  "  Perhaps  you  will  recall  the  name,  John  God- 
frey !" 

I  stared  at  him,  sinking  weakly  upon  a  mossy  log. 
"John!"  I  stammered.  "Why,  where  is  he?" 

"  Somewhere  in  Frontenac,"  replied  Cyrenus,  with  a 
wicked  grin.  "  Just  where  remains  for  you  'nd  me  to 
find  out.  He  is  imprisoned,  I  think  in  the  fortress, 
though  I  ain't  sure." 

"But  how  did  it  happen?"  I  demanded.  "When 
was  he  taken  and  who  captured  him?" 

"The  night  you  left,"  replied  Cyrenus,  "you  and  he 
were  seen  to  enter  the  woods  together  early  in  the 
evening.  We  knew  you  got  away  all  right,  but  God- 
frey failed  to  return  to  the  house  that  night  or  the 
next  morning.  We  went  down  to  the  lake  shore,  and, 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  toward  Fish  Island,  we  came 
to  a  spot  that  showed  the  marks  of  a  tremendous 
struggle.  The  shore  was  trampled  as  if  it  had  been 
the  scene  of  a  bull  fight.  We  picked  up  some  torn 
clothing  that  we  found  was  John's.  They  must  have 
pretty  near  ripped  his  whole  uniform  off  him.  There 
was  a  lot  of  blood  spilled,  too,  and  I'll  bet  it  wasn't 
all  his."  He  chuckled  and  resumed. 

"A  little  more  investigation  showed  that  a  strange 
schooner  was  seen  to  sail  out  of  Kahuahgo  Bay  that 
night.  Every  thing  pointed  to  John  bein'  aboard  that 


THE  LION  CAGED  341 

schooner.  Well,  my  time  was  up  in  a  few  days,  and 
as  soon  as  it  expired,  I  drew  my  pay  and  got  across. 
When  my  business  here  is  done  with,  I  shall  go  back 
and  re-enlist.  I  thought  on  comin'  here  that  it 
would  be  better  to  work  in  the  open,  so  I  joined  the 
king's  men,  tellin'  'em  a  tale  of  an  old  British  veteran 
who  couldn't  stand  it  to  keep  still  any  longer.  Of 
course,  I  didn't  say  anythin'  about  my  services  over 
yonder."  He  grinned  sarcastically.  "I'm  drawin' 
king's  rations,"  he  observed,  "  and  have  been  for 
some  few  days." 

"What  have  you  discovered?"  I  asked. 

"  Only  that  John  is  held  prisoner  somewhere  in  the 
town  under  a  murderous  charge,"  he  answered, 
"lodged  by  the  man  who  brought  him  from  the 
Harbor.  He  is  accused  of  bein'  a  British  renegade, 
and  of  firm'  the  powder  magazine  at  Little  York  and 
killin'  a  number  of  the  king's  soldiers,  thinkin'  his 
own  men  had  got  out  of  harm's  way." 

I  gasped.  "And  the  man  who  lodges  the  accusa- 
tion  "  I  muttered. 

"Is  that  hound,  Red  Rolfe,"  added  Cyre- 
nus.  I  saw  again  the  rush  of  the  strange  ship 
through  the  water;  heard  the  sound  of  a  hated 
voice.  I  sprang  to  my  feet. 

"We  must  save  him!"  I  cried.  And  putting  out 
my  hand,  "Forgive  me,  Cyrenus.  I  was  an  ass!" 

"You  were,  my  boy ! "  he  exclaimed  with  conviction. 
"Let  it  teach  you  not  to  take  too  much  for 
granted.  You  are  mighty  young  yet." 

I  swallowed  it,  for  it  was  true.  "What  shall  we 
do?"  I  asked.  I  turned  to  the  little  man,  for  in  my 
estimation  he  was  expanding  like  the  fabled  Arabian 
genii  of  the  bottle. 

"You  go  ahead  with  your  business  here,"  he  an- 


342  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

swered,  "and  keep  your  eyes  open.  I'll  do  the  same, 
and  between  us  we'll  find  where  he  is  in  short  order. 
Then  we'll  confer  about  getting  him  out.  Now  we 
had  better  get  apart." 

"You  had  another  object  in  coming,"  I  ventured, 
as  he  turned  to  go.  His  strange,  puckered  face  be- 
came lighted  with  malevolence.  The  piercing  little 
eyes  were  as  hard  as  nails. 

"John's  turn  comes  first,"  he  replied,  dry  as  dead 
bones.  "We  must  cheat  the  hangman.  The  other 
can  wait."  His  lean  jaws  closed  with  a  vicious  snap. 
He  again  turned  to  go.  Gypso  wagged  himself  along- 
side, fawning  upon  the  little  man. 

"How  comes  he  here?"  I  asked  Cyrenus,  indicating 
the  dog. 

"Followed  me  to  the  boat  when  I  left  the  Harbor," 
he  responded.  "Bound  to  come  along.  Seemed  to 
know  somethin'  was  up.  Mess  has  made  a  pet  of 
him.  Think  he's  mine."  He  was  gone,  the  dog 
capering  after. 

I  made  my  way  slowly  toward  the  town,  musing 
on  the  startling  news.  I  cursed  my  stupidity  in  sleep- 
ing at  the  shack  that  night  instead  of  accompanying 
John  as  he  had  asked  me.  While  I  slumbered  he  had 
been  harried  by  those  hounds.  True,  had  I  been 
there,  I  would  have  evidently  accompanied  him,  render- 
ing the  execution  of  my  present  delicate  mission  impossi- 
ble. Still,  it  was  but  human  to  regret.  I  cursed  the 
whim  that  had  led  my  feet  into  that  quarter.  Any 
other  direction  would  have  saved  John.  The  sur- 
rounding circumstances  made  it  impossible  to  believe 
that  Rolfe's  party  had  come  for  the  express  purpose 
of  capturing  the  intrepid  trapper.  I  was  certain,  on 
the  contrary,  that  their  mission  had  been  some  other, 
equally  or  more  nefarious ;  that  they  landed  for  some 


THE  LION  CAGED  343 

purpose,  making  the  noise  that  his  lynx's  ears  had 
unfortunately  heard  so  far  away,  and  that  he 
had  somehow  walked  into  the  very  midst  of  them 
and  the  struggle  had  resulted.  There  must  have 
been  a  pack  of  them,  I  reflected  grimly,  and  some 
battered  wounded  to  help  on  board.  However,  the 
thing  was  done,  and  the  problem  of  his  succor  was 
to  be  solved.  That  he  should  be  found  and  released 
I  was  determined,  else  death  and  I  might  meet  in 
Frontenac. 

Reaching  the  town,  I  made  my  way  to  the  King's 
Inn,  where  I  met  sundry  of  my  whilom  comrades. 
Them  I  told,  with  perfect  truth,  that  I  had  come 
from  Montreal.  I  added  that  I  would  remain  in 
Frontenac  a  few  days  before  proceeding,  by  boat,  to 
Little  York.  I  regaled  them  with  fictitious  accounts 
of  my  experiences  among  the  Yankees  and  enjoyed 
with  them  a  mug  or  two  of  good,  old  British  ale. 

In  a  corner  of  the  room  was  seated  the  militia 
captain,  Chichester,  my  cowardly  opponent  of  the 
duel  so  long  before.  In  glancing  about  I  marked 
his  presence.  I  noted  the  disfigured  nose,  which-  I 
had  broken  in  that  curious  clash,  and  repressed  a 
desire  to  laugh.  Darting  me  one  venomous  glance 
out  of  bleared  eyes,  he  rose,  leaving  the  room.  He 
was  more  dissipated  than  ever  in  appearance;  a 
guzzling,  uniformed  rake. 

"Wonder  he  doesn't  drink  himself  to  death,"  com- 
mented one  of  the  officers,  when  he  was  gone.  "Has 
a  copper-lined  stomach,  His  head  is  addled  as  a  bad 
egg  most  of  the  time.  Were  he  a  regular,  he  would 
be  cashiered.  As  it  is,  they  have  overlooked  him." 

I  had  supper  with  my  British  friends  and  smoked 
with  them  later  in  the  twilight.  Our  talk  concerned 
the  American  invasion,  which  I  had  learned  all  along 


344  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

the  line  was  contemplated,  though,  with  the  same 
tardiness  that  characterized  many  of  our  own  com- 
manders, the  definite  plans  had  not  yet  been  perfected. 
Frontenac,  however,  was  teeming  with  aggressive 
preparation.  I  found  my  red-coated  friends  eager 
for  action,  particularly  for  a  descent  on  Sackets 
Harbor.  Their  inability  to  capture  that  port  had 
evidently  left  a  raw  spot  in  the  British  pride. 

The  full  moon  rose  luminously  in  a  sky  that  was 
peppered  with  stars.  The  night  was  magnificent  for 
a  stroll.  Excusing  myself,  I  left  my  companions 
and  sauntered  through  the  town  and  out  upon  the 
straggling  street  upon  which  stood  the  house  that 
had  once  sheltered  Renee.  A  light  was  in  the  window. 
I  passed  with  a  look  that  was  lingering  and  bitter. 

I  gained  the  end  of  the  road.  Beyond  me  lay  the 
shadowed  forest,  a  vague,  dark  mass,  stretching 
away  in  a  long  line  of  gloom.  The  old  spirit  claimed 
me.  I  plunged  into  the  woods,  moving  swiftly  and 
deviously  away  from  the  town,  later  turning  back 
toward  it.  A  cool  autumnal  breeze,  stirring  the 
boughs  above  me,  whispered  tremulously.  My  feet 
sank  softly  in  a  carpet  of  leafy  mould. 

Once  I  fancied  I  heard  a  stir  behind  me  and  stopped 
to  listen,  but  no  sound  came.  Imagination,  I 
thought,  and  continued. 

Suddenly  a  spectral,  white  glow,  shimmering 
through  the  adjacent  foliage,  met  my  eyes.  A  few 
strides  and  I  was  at  the  edge  of  a  large,  circular 
clearing,  bare  of  trees  save  for  a  few  belated  patri- 
archs. The  grassy  floor,  cleared  of  stumps  and  all 
obstructions,  lay  level  before  me,  flooded  with  moon- 
light. I  stared  an  instant  and  a  rushing  memory 
recalled  the  place.  It  was  the  duelling  ground,  the 
spot  where  I  had  once  met  a  craven  and  discarded 


THE  LION  CAGED  345 

firearms  for  the  use  of  a  pair  of  itching  fists.  I 
gazed  at  the  very  spot  where  I  had  pummelled  the 
cur  and  laughed  low  with  satisfaction. 

A  hateful  snarl  came  from  the  shadows  back  of  me. 
I  whirled,  but  even  as  I  did  so,  something  came  down 
on  my  luckless  head  with  a  resounding  thump  and  I 
dropped  like  a  felled  ox. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 
The  Proving  of  Cyrenus 

A  tug  at  my  wrists  roused  me.  I  opened  a  pair 
of  bewildered  eyes,  blinking  with  the  pain  that  rioted 
in  my  buzzing  head.  With  the  adjustment  of  return- 
ing senses  came  the  hazy  conviction  that  I  was  cer- 
tainly a  mark,  and  a  shining  one,  for  the  slings  and 
arrows.  I  glanced  at  my  bound  hands,  which  were 
crossed  piously  in  front  of  me,  the  knots  cutting 
into  the  flesh.  They  had  evidently  been  drawn  taut 
with  savage  satisfaction.  Then  I  looked  into  the 
scowling  face  of  Chichester,  for  he  it  was  who  was 
bending  over  me.  I  laughed  with  what  bravado  I 
could  summon,  struggling  awkwardly  to  my  feet. 

"You  have  an  easy  advantage  this  time,"  I  sneered. 
"Even  a  greater  than  that  of  a  shot  before  the  word ! 
Do  I  mistake,  or  did  you  try  to  vary  the  monotony 
of  your  usual  methods  of  thuggery  just  now  by 
braining  me?" 

"No,  the  scaffold  is  better.  I  would  not  cheat  it," 
he  growled  brutally.  "I  would  rather  see  you  dancing 
on  nothing  than  eat  when  I  am  hungry." 

"Or  to  drink  when  you  are  thirsty,"  I  suggested. 
"Sorry  I  have  not  a  bottle  with  me.  I  wonder  you 
could  leave  the  tap  room  long  enough  to  follow  me." 

He  struck  me  heavily  across  the  mouth.  The  blood 
dripped  from  my  cut,  swelling  lips  as  I  strained  at 
the  cords.  They  only  bit  the  deeper  into  my  numbed 
wrists.  He  laughed  sardonically. 


THE  PROVING  OF  CYRENUS     347 

"A  blow  for  a  blow,  puppy,"  he  said.  My  eyes 
blazed. 

"At  least  your  hands  were  free,  you  drunken  cur!" 
I  breathed,  in  an  ecstasy  of  rage.  He  made  as  if 
to  strike  me  again. 

I  sprang  aside,  and,  as  he  came  on,  lowered  my 
head  and  charged,  bull-like,  into  his  gross  paunch, 
for  dramming  had  bloated  him  mightily  these  two 
years  gone.  He  fell,  with  a  bellow  of  agony,  and  I 
over  him.  I  snapped  to  my  feet  to  find  him  rolling 
in  the  grass,  deathly  sick,  hands  clasping  his  belly. 
He  gasped  and  gurgled,  his  red  face  suddenly  gone 
chalky  white.  It  was  grotesque.  I  roared  at  the 
sight. 

"Get  up!"  I  told  him,  stirring  his  writhing  car- 
cass with  my  foot  as  he  lay  grovelling.  "Don't  cry. 
'Tis  but  a  little  breeze  on  the  stomach.  It  will  pass. 
Just  gulp." 

Presently  he  got  slowly  upon  his  feet,  being  very 
shaky  in  the  knees.  I  stepped  toward  him,  and, 
bound  as  I  was,  he  gave  way  before  me,  drawing  a 
pistol,  with  which  he  threatened  me. 

"Bah!"  I  exclaimed,  in  deep  disgust,  "there  is  not 
a  drop  of  red  blood  in  you!" 

"Yours  will  shortly  all  go  to  your  feet,"  he  re- 
torted, still  keeping  away  from  me,  as  I  noted  with 
amusement.  "They  will  kick  merrily  at  first,  those 
feet,  but  they  will  grow  heavy  at  the  last,  when  you 
get  black  in  the  face  and  your  tongue  hangs  out. 
Now  I'll  trouble  you  to  march  before  me  into  the 
town.  I'll  take  a  hand  myself!"  with  an  oath. 

"Let  me  ride  on  your  shoulders,"  I  suggested 
whimsically. 

"Go  on,  now,  no  more  parleying !"  he  cried,  flourish- 
ing his  pistol,  which  I  judged  by  this  time  he  had 


348    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

forgotten  to  load  before  starting  after  me,  a  con- 
jecture which  later  proved  to  be  correct. 

"  So  I  am  to  be  hanged,  eh  ?"  I  asked  curiously, 
making  no  move  to  obey  his  marching  orders.  "  May 
I  ask  how  you  intend  to  bring  this  about?"  with  a 
sneer.  "  King's  men  do  not  usually  hang  comrades." 

He  burst  into  evil  laughter.  "No  more  do  they — 
hang  comrades  !"  he  exclaimed.  "But  you — you  are 
a  comrade,  are  you?  Your  name  is  Stranahan,  is  it? 
You  are  attached  to  the  Canadian  secret  service, 
are  you  ?  I  tell  you,  you  shall  march  before  me  into 
the  town  and  be  exposed  for  what  you  are !  It's 
none  of  your  business  how  I  know,  but  I  know  you 

for  a  d d  Yankee  spy,  and  your  name  I  can  tell 

them  yonder!" 

"Yes,"  breathed  a  quiet  voice  near  us,  a  strange, 
attenuated  voice  that  startled  us  to  silence,  "but 
you  will  never  live  to  tell  it ! "  And  out  of  the  shadow 
into  the  moonlit  circle,  there  walked — Cyrenus. 

Stopping  an  instant  by  me  he  put  forth  a  hand. 
A  keen  blade  cut  my  bonds.  The  severed  cords 
dropped.  My  hands  were  free. 

"Now,"  I  growled  exultantly,  stepping  toward  my 
enemy,  who  stood  as  one  dazed,  "we  will  have  this 
out  right  now,  with  fists,  firearms  or  in  any  way, 
only  this  time  it  is  to  the  death  !"  But  I  was  thrust 
back  with  a  force  that  amazed  me,  coming,  as  it 
did,  from  the  spare  little  man  who  had  delivered  me. 
He  stepped  into  my  place,  confronting  the  coward. 
I  looked  at  them  both,  then  stood  motionless  and 
speechless. 

For  Cyrenus  was  glaring  into  the  coward's  red- 
rimmed  eyes,  and  the  coward's  were  blasted  with  a 
stare  of  terror.  Cyrenus'  thin,  wiry  frame  was  tense 
as  a  drawn  bowstring;  nervous  tremors  of  anger 


THE  PROVING  OF  CYRENUS  349 

shook  him  like  a  reed.  His  hands  were  clenched; 
his  unwinking  eyes,  glowing  like  a  cat's,  flamed  into 
the  white  face  opposite  him.  It  was  a  strange  and 
terrible  tableau  in  that  white,  ghostly  radiance;  it 
held  a  grim  significance  born  of  a  buried  something 
in  the  churchyard  of  the  past.  For  one  of  them  the 
world  would  end  that  night.  And  which? 

Which,  indeed !  Yon  shivering  coward,  waxy  pale, 
ghastly  in  the  moonlight?  Or  that  strange  little 
figure,  trembling  with  speechless  rage,  the  pose  alive 
with  a  leonine  courage,  the  face  that  I  scarcely  recog- 
nized? For  a  certain  awe  stole  over  me  as  I  watched 
him  and  wondered  if  I  had  ever  really  known 
him.  The  rough,  uncouth  mask  that  I  remem- 
bered in  my  first  acquaintance  with  him  was  gone 
like  a  discarded  garment;  the  mask  that  had  come 
doubtless  to  a  ruined  life,  withered  at  a  blow;  the 
sour,  dour  mask  that  had  grown  more  hideous  with 
the  dramming  with  which  he  sought  to  bring  for- 
getfulness;  the  mask  that  endured  until  the  night 
in  the  tavern  when  Noadiah,  a  missionary  indeed, 
opened  the  eyes  of  the  sour  little  man  with  his 
stinging  words — and  Cyrenus  began  the  struggle 
back  to  manhood. 

A  royal  return,  indeed;  for  Cyrenus,  as  he  now 
appeared,  brought  the  vision  of  a  youth  season  far 
different  from  his  days  of  age.  A  certain  conscious 
power,  a  premonitory  sense  of  an  impending  some- 
thing from  him  which  should  fill  me  with  amaze, 
held  and  thrilled  me.  As  he  spoke,  even  the  pro- 
vincialisms picked  up  by  his  loose  manner  of  living 
and  his  residence  in  a  raw,  new  region  dropped  from 
him  like  uncouth  rags,  and  his  enunciation  was  as 
pure  as  my  own.  The  conviction  seized  me  that, 
while  he  had  not  been  born  in  the  purple,  he  at  least 


350  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

had  lived  with  it,  and,  as  he  glared  at  the  wretch 
opposite  him,  I  divined  in  a  flash  that  here  stood 
the  malign  influence  that  had  wrecked  the  little 
man— had  made  of  him  for  a  time  a  pariah  among 
men. 

A  breathless  moment  they  remained,  staring  one 
at  the  other,  when  Cyrenus  had  thrust  me  back. 
Then  the  little  man  spoke  to  me,  without  removing 
his  eyes  from  the  creature's  face,  his  voice  soft  as 
the  first  low  snarl  of  some  wild  thing  disturbed. 

"No,  boy,"  he  muttered,  "you  stand  back.  This 
is  my  quarrel.  Youth  must  defer  to  age.  You  have 
had  provocation;  yes,  but  mine  has  been  greater. 
'  The  first  shall  be  last  and  the  last  first.'  How  true 
that  is,  Gilbert.  You  remember  I  told  you  that  I 
came  here  to  do  two  things  and  that  I  should  do 
the  other  first.  Well,  God  is  good,  and  it  is  the 
second  I  shall  do  first,  after  all,  for  this  night  I 
shall  kill  a  man ! " 

As  he  concluded  his  voice  grew  in  intensity;  there 
was  in  it  the  concentration  of  a  world  of  hate ;  of  a 
desire  for  death-dealing  that  held  all  of  life.  His 
hand,  outstretched,  pointed  across  at  the  whitened 
face  of  the  wretch,  who  staggered  backward,  sick 
with  fear.  The  voice  went  on,  harsh  with  sarcasm. 

"Watch  him,  Gilbert,  don't  let  him  run  !"  it  admon- 
ished. "  We  must  not  have  to  stab  him  in  the  back, 
for  it  smacks  too  much  of  his  way.  He  shall  be 
forced  to  die  like  a  man,  whether  he  will  or  no,  with 
his  death  wound  in  the  breast !  But  why  is  he  alarm- 
ed at  the  sight  of  an  old  man?  Why,  he  looks  as  if 
he  had  seen  a  ghost!" 

Still  not  a  sound  from  the  pallid  bravo.  Still  the 
eyes  of  the  little  man,  gleaming  with  strange  power, 
held  the  wretch's  wavering  own;  still  the  wretch 


THE  PROVING  OF  CYRENUS  351 

stood   like   a  cowed  criminal,  apparently  powerless 
to  move  or  speak. 

"A  ghost!"  pursued  Cyrenus,  his  speech  grown 
like  bitter  brine.  "  I'll  wager,  Gilbert,  he  does  see 
one  at  this  moment !  The  ghost  of  a  brave  young 
fellow  dead  for  years,  a  young  fellow  who  didn't  look 
much  like  me,  for  God  was  good  and  made  him  like 
his  dead  English  mother,  God  rest  her !  A  young 
fellow  with  as  stout  a  heart  as  ever  pumped  under 
any  jacket  and  a  sword  arm  that  was  famed  through 
the  kingdom,  yes,  and  across  the  Channel;  an  arm 
I  taught.  Only  this  cur  yonder,  Gilbert,— this 
son  of  a  British  nobleman  and  a  servant  wench, 
for  I  know  him  if  no  one  else  does; — this  cur  who 
had  even  then  been  cashiered  from  the  regular  army 
in  disgrace; — this  adventurer  of  a  dozen  names,  who, 
if  his  record  were  known,  would  be  strung  up  in 
Frontenac  tomorrow  by  the  men  he  insults  with  his 
association;  this  hound  who  is  about  to  die,  what 
of  him?  Only  this,  he  didn't  know  of  the  boy's 
sword  arm  and  its  fame  when  he  insulted  the  boy 
in  the  fencing  rooms  of  the  boy's  own  father,  for  he 
didn't  know  at  the  moment  that  the  young  fellow 
was  the  old  man's  son,  you  see.  Nor  did  we  know 
him,  else  he  would  have  never  been  allowed  inside 
those  rooms.  The  cur  knew  the  boy's  father,  though, 
and  he  could  give  you  another  name  for  him  than 
the  one  you  know;  a  name  that  London  and  the 
continent  knew  in  the  old  days  as  a  master  of  blades ; 
a  master  who  had  as  a  stripling  served  our  own 
land,  Gilbert,  in  '76  and  helped  place  it  among  the 
nations.  The  stripling  was  taken  prisoner  late  in  the 
struggle,  chancing  to  fall  under  the  notice  of  a  British 
officer  who  was  as  fine  a  gentleman  as  ever  lived 
and  a  famous  swordsman.  Through  a  whim  this 


352  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

officer  began  teaching  the  stripling,  whom  he  had 
caused  to  be  treated  with  great  consideration  in  cap- 
tivity. The  stripling  learned  the  game  with  great 
rapidity,  and,  when  the  war  ended,  the  officer  took 
him  to  England  with  him  and  made  of  him  a  protege. 
Every  opportunity  was  afforded  him,  and  his  blade 
began  soon  to  be  celebrated.  He  married  early  and 
a  son  was  born.  The  stripling  had  become  a  man, 
and,  while  he  was  not  large,  he  was  made  of  springs 
and  steel.  He  appeared  in  Paris;  in  Vienna  he  met 
the  German  experts  upon  their  own  ground.  He 
was  never  worsted.  By  and  by,  through  pure  love 
of  fighting,  he  was  for  a  time  in  the  British  armies, 
and  others  as  well,  a  free  lance.  The  boy  was  about 
ten  years  old  when  he  finally  returned  to  settle  in 
London  and  to  open  modest  rooms  that  were  always 
filled  with  the  clash  of  steel,  for  the  flower  of  the 
kingdom  came  there  then  to  be  taught,  Gilbert,  by 
one  you  have  known  as  humble  and  snuffling  and 
of  no  account.  And  the  boy  grew  up  like  a  weed 
and  his  father  taught  him  all  he  knew;  taught  him 
to  know  the  sword  as  few  men  know  their  creeds. 
The  boy,  quite  naturally,  was  younger  than  his  father, 
and  by  and  by  there  was  not  a  better  blade  in  Lon- 
don than  he,  nor  among  the  king's  men,  for  he  took 
rank  in  George's  armies,  though  he  would  never 
have  borne  arms  against  his  father's  country.  But," 
he  continued,  his  voice  grown  snarling,  "  the  coward 
opposite,  who  will  presently  die,  did  not  know  who 
the  boy  was  when  he  insulted  him.  He  showed  the 
craven  when  he  heard  the  boy's  name,  but  there 
were  others  present,  so  he  pretended  still  to  be  a 
man.  A  man !  A  meeting  was  arranged,  but  the 
day  before  the  affair,  the  boy  was  found  dead  in  a 
mean  London  alley,  assassinated  by  hired  thugs. 


THE  PROVING  OF  CYRENUS  353 

"Nothing  could  be  directly  proved,"  continued 
Cyrenus,  after  a  slight,  thrilling  pause,  his  voice 
shadowed,  "but  those  who  knew  the  cur  suspected. 
And  the  father  of  the  dead  man  afterward  learned 
from  a  confession  by  one  of  the  assassins  who  it  was 
that  had  hired  them.  The  cur,  fearing  the  father, 
quitted  London  and  the  father  could  not  find  him. 
The  mother,  who  had  been  in  ill  health  for  years, 
pined  and  died,  and  the  fencer,  again  alone  in  the 
world,  shut  up  his  rooms,  having  no  heart  for  them, 
and  returned  to  American  soil.  Lately,  through 
happy  chance,  the  old  man  heard  that  the  cur  was 
in  the  king's  service  as  a  militia  officer  in  Frontenac. 
The  king's  cause,  did  he  know  it,  has  fallen  low 
indeed,  and  the  only  reason  that  the  red  uniform 
now  appears  upon  the  veteran  is  that  he  may  be 
enabled  through  it  to  kill  the  cur.  He  has  searched 
for  the  cur  so  many  years  that  it  seemed  as  if  he 
would  surely  die  before  the  cur  did,  but  the  quest  has 
ended  and  it  is  the  cur  who  will  die  first." 

He  stepped  briskly  into  the  shadow  from  whence 
he  had  come,  Chichester's  eyes  following  him  stupidly. 
In  an  instant  the  old  man  reappeared,  bearing  a 
couple  of  rapiers.  He  must  have  shadowed  the 
doomed  ruffian  since  he  had  arrived  at  Frontenac, 
ready  to  force  an  encounter,  in  some  secluded  spot, 
at  the  first  opportunity.  This  night  had  favored 
him,  and  he  must  have  followed  Chichester  even  as 
the  militia  captain  had  followed  me.  One  of  the 
blades  the  old  man  flung  at  the  fellow's  feet. 

"Strip!"  he  ordered  grimly,  removing  his  own 
coat.  The  man  spoke  at  last.  His  lips  were  blanched, 
his  voice  hoarse. 

"You  are  crazy,"  he  croaked.  " I  never  killed  your 
son.  I  knew  nothing  of  it !" 


354  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

Cyrenus  pressed  the  point  of  his  weapon  lightly 
against  the  other's  breast.  Chichester  shuddered 
and  recoiled. 

"Strip!"  again  ordered  the  little  man.  "Take 
up  that  blade  and  protect  yourself,  or  I'll  run  you 
through  where  you  stand!" 

There  was  no  alternative.  With  the  feeble  flicker 
of  courage  possessed  by  the  cornered  mongrel,  which 
snaps  and  snarls  when  dying,  with  the  zest  born  of 
the  insanity  of  fear,  the  ruffian  prepared  for  his  last 
stand.  His  jacket  fell  to  the  ground.  He  rolled  up 
the  sleeve  of  his  shirt,  his  coarse  face  chalky,  his 
eyes  wild. 

Cyrenus  stood  waiting,  a  man  transformed.  Was 
he  indeed  the  insignificant  pariah  I  had  known  ?  He 
stood  irradiated  in  the  moonlight;  his  odd,  wizened 
face  thrilled  and  changed  with  a  sense  of  power;  the 
face  of  a  master  of  his  art,  whatever  it  be,  even  if 
that  of  the  scientific  killing  of  a  man.  His  throat 
was  bare,  his  shirt  sleeves  were  rolled  to  the  elbow. 
He  swished  his  light  blade  through  the  air.  Grasp- 
ing its  supple  point,  he  tested  its  temper  with  the 
air  that  marks  the  veteran.  Now  he  raised  the  slen- 
der foil  in  salute  and  fell  into  position,  his  free  arm 
half  raised,  his  wiry  form  as  spare  and  supple  as  a 
boy's,  his  face  strangely  youthful,  his  old  eyes  afire, 
a  sour  smile  on  his  thin  lips.  The  man  opposite 
him,  nerving  himself,  leaped  forward  as  he  essayed 
a  desperate  thrust. 

The  old  man's  feet  never  moved.  As  the  other's 
blade,  like  a  white  flame,  darted  in,  he  bent  forward, 
interposing  his  own  from  underneath  with  a  swift, 
upward  parry.  A  second  the  two  blades  wrestled  in 
midair,  guard  by  guard.  Then,  in  a  flash,  Cyrenus 
had  twisted  his  own  blade  under  and  thrust  inside 


THE  PROVING  OF  CYRENUS  355 

his  opponent's  sword  arm,  straight  at  the  red  throat. 
A  muffled  howl  broke  from  the  bully.  A  few  drops 
of  blood,  vividly  red,  more  than  I  had  thought  the 
creature  had,  appeared  at  the  slight  wound,  stain- 
ing the  neck  crimson.  Cyrenus  sprang  back  with  a 
dry  laugh  and  I  knew  he  was  but  playing  with  the 
rat. 

"Faith,  but  you  are  awkward!"  commented  Cyre- 
nus. "  The  boy  would  have  had  you  dead  by  now, 
for  he  was  younger  than  I.  But  I  am  young  to-night, 
my  dog,  as  young  as  Gilbert  there,  though  after  you 
are  dead  I  fear  me  I  shall  feel  old  again !  Come  on 
and  try  to  improve!  All  h — 1  is  watching  for  you. 
Try  to  enter  it  more  gracefully!" 

The  scene  for  the  next  five  minutes  will  be  vivid  in 
my  memory  till  it  dies  with  me.  At  the  words  a 
demon  of  desperation  seized  the  doomed  adventurer. 
Clenching  his  teeth  at  the  taunt,  he  fell  to  with 
savage  fury,  revealing  to  me,  who  stood  breathless 
at  the  edge  of  the  moonlit  clearing,  that  he  was  far 
from  a  novice. 

The  blades  writhed  and  flashed  in  the  air  like 
flames,  scraping  interminably.  Chichester  pressed 
forward,  foot  by  foot,  in  the  vicious  assault,  seeking 
by  every  trick  he  knew,  by  every  artifice  he  had  ever 
learned,  to  avert  the  doom  that  was  inevitable.  For, 
as  I  looked  at  Cyrenus,  I  knew  that  this  was  so. 
Just  now,  I  made  no  doubt  simply  to  prolong  the 
play,  he  chose  to  work  purely  on  the  defensive,  but 
with  a  defence  so  perfect,  so  masterly,  that  my  blood 
grew  hot  with  admiration  and  my  pulses  thrilled. 
Back  he  went,  giving  ground  slowly  inch  by  inch, 
his  piercing  eyes  darting  fire  into  the  passion-bulged 
ones  of  his  adversary.  There  was  not  an  unnecessary 
motion.  The  wiry  frame,  superbly  poised,  responded 


356  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

with  the  suppleness  of  youth  to  every  exigency.  The 
defending  blade,  flashing  meteor-like  in  the  air,  ward- 
ing off  thrusts  with  a  nicety  of  calculation  that  was 
wonderful,  seemed  to  turn  hither  and  yon  of  its  own 
volition.  But  I  could  see  the  tense  forearm,  small 
but  swollen  with  knotted  muscle,  the  wrist  of  steel, 
and,  more  than  all  else,  the  watchful  eye,  piercing 
as  a  needle,  holding  his  opponent's  own;  the  calm, 
impassive  face;  the  eye  and  the  face  of  a  master. 
They  spoke  of  the  Continent,  of  dramas  I  might 
never  know,  of  champions  worsted,  of  the  apogee  of 
deadly  skill.  It  was  a  revelation. 

Presently  Chichester's  assault  decreased  in  violence. 
His  chest  labored  convulsively,  he  gave  vent  to  great, 
sobbing  breaths.  He  was  tiring  fast  but  still  fought 
with  fearsome  stubbornness.  Finally,  as  he  lunged 
forward  with  a  feeble  thrust,  Cyrenus  stepped  in. 
There  was  a  ringing  impact  and  Chichester  stood 
disarmed,  his  rapier  flying  through  the  air.  The 
point  of  the  little  man's  weapon  was  against  his 
breast. 

"See!"  cried  Cyrenus,  and  his  voice  held  the  ring 
of  his  own  steel.  "  I  should  kill  you  now !  When 
did  you  ever  refuse  to  kill  a  disarmed  man?  But  I 
am  neither  a  cur  nor  a  coward!  Go  pick  up  your 
sword!" 

He  turned  to  do  so,  with  a  look  of  dumb  entreaty 
in  eyes  that  were  like  a  bullock's  in  a  slaughter- 
house. For  he  knew  it  was  the  end  for  him. 

Once  more  the  blades  crossed,  but  now  it  was  the 
little  man  who  assumed  the  aggressive.  I  stared 
amazed,  for  it  was  borne  in  upon  me  that  the  fore- 
going had  been  merely  play  for  him.  His  blade  flew 
in  and  out  with  such  rapidity  that  it  was  difficult 
to  even  remotely  follow  the  thrusts,  like  lightning 


THE  PROVING  OF  CYRENUS  357 

flashes.  Chichester  did  what  he  could,  but  I  could 
see  that  he  was  helpless.  He  was  driven  backward, 
turned  at  the  clearing's  edge,  and  forced  to  retreat 
slowly  around  again  in  a  circle.  As  they  passed  me 
I  noticed  that  he  was  bleeding  from  the  neck,  arm 
and  breast.  Pin  pricks  only,  administered  by  the 
lithe  demon  before  him  merely  as  foretastes.  Chi- 
chester's  labored  breath  came  in  sobs,  tearing  his 
great  chest.  The  sweat  from  his  forehead  rolled  down 
into  his  eyes,  blinding  him.  Still  he  fought  on; 
dogged,  despairing,  hopeless. 

And  as  the  little  man  thrust  and  feinted  alternate- 
ly with  lightning-like  rapidity,  prolonging  the  agony 
with  all  the  hot  lust  for  revenge  within  him,  he 
taunted  the  wretch  with  bitter,  biting  words. 

''Look  out!"  he  exclaimed.  "Ah-h!  you  nearly 
got  it  that  time.  I  had  nearly  thrust  too  far.  I'm 
not  ready  to  kill  you  quite  yet.  Pardon,  does  your 
arm  pain  you?  Well,  you  have  pained  people  in  your 
time,  people  whose  wounds  were  in  the  back.  They 
did  not  know  whose  hand  it  was  that  pained  them, 
but  you  know,  do  you  not?  For  see,  though  you 
don't  deserve  it,  your  wounds  are  all  in  front.  You 
are  being  forced  to  die  like  a  man,  but  only  that 
the  ordeal  may  be  somewhat  protracted.  However, 
I  must  hasten.  Did  you  have  a  drink  to-night, 
before  you  came  here?  I'm  afraid  you  will  go  dry 
yonder,  and  you  can't  bridge  the  gulf.  Lazarus 
could  do  you  no  good  anyway,  since  you  don't 
care  for  water.  And  it's  too  late  to  learn,  for  now 
you  have  but  a  moment.  Look  out!  You  need 
bleeding,— take  that!  Well,  let's  end  it!  Ah-h 
take  care!  You  were  too  late  that  time.  Well, 
good  bye  to  you!" 

He  drew  the  blade  from  the  body  and  plunged  it 


358  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

into  the  soft  earth,  wiping  it  dry  with  a  tuft  of  grass. 
The  body  quivered  briefly,  then  lay  still.  Except  for 
one  agonized  cry,  there  had  been  no  sound.  Cyrenus 
stood  quietly  resuming  his  coat,  his  face  sombre. 
He  was  breathing  a  little  more  quickly,  that  was  all. 

"Gilbert,"  he  called,  "help  me  drag  this  into  the 
bushes.  It  will  be  found  in  a  day  or  two,  but 
think  that  will  answer  for  our  other  purpose." 

I  assisted  him.  The  dead  eyes  glared  in  the  moon- 
light. Some  cold  drops  of  sweat  beaded  the  fore- 
head. I  left  him  with  relief. 

We  started  toward  the  town.  "Gilbert,"  he  said 
with  a  certain  severity, — somehow  there  was  no  rea- 
son why  he  should  ever  call  me  other  than  by  my 
Christian  name  again, — "that's  a  bad  habit  you 
have  of  mooning  around  when  it  isn't  healthy  to 
do  it.  You'd  ought  to  wear  a  helmet.  You'll  get 
your  skull  cracked  some  day." 

"You  are  right,"  I  answered,  with  humility.  He 
could  address  me  as  he  pleased  henceforth.  "I  seem 
to  be  a  butt  for  blows  in  that  locality." 

He  smiled  his  sour  smile  at  me.  "You  are  young 
yet,  very  young,"  he  averred  "  The  very  young  are 
always  soft  in  the  skull.  Yours  will  harden  some 
day." 

And  we  tramped  on. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
The  Enemy   Paves  the  Way 

I  rose  early  the  next  morning.  My  sleep  had  been 
fitful  and  disturbed,  for  I  had  beheld  interminably 
the  scene  of  the  night  and  heard  the  scrape  of  steel, 
with  the  thin  blades  always  rasping,  and  the  sound 
of  the  labored  breathing  of  the  man  who  now  lay 
so  quiet  yonder.  I  saw  the  dead  eyes  with  the  look 
of  terror,  like  a  slaughtered  bullock's,  frozen  in  them ; 
the  dead  face  on  which  the  cold,  beaded  sweat  still 
stood;  saw  the  body  sprawled  on  the  green  in  a 
gross,  huddled  heap.  Toward  the  morning,  how- 
ever, I  dropped  into  a  heavy  slumber  which  did 
much  to  freshen  me.  After  breakfast  I  left  the  inn, 
stepping  out  into  the  sunshine. 

The  day  was  fit  to  dissipate  bad  dreams.  The 
town  lay  gilded  with  radiance.  Not  a  cloud  drifted. 
I  sauntered  down  to  the  docks,  from  whence  sounded 
the  ceaseless  tap  of  hammers.  Yeo  was  as  active  in 
Front  enac  as  his  opponent  across  the  sunlit  water.  The 
ribs  of  half-finished  mastodons  reared  above  the  stocks, 
over  them  swarmed,  like  ants,  a  multitude  of  work- 
men, tapping  like  woodpeckers.  I  smiled  with  inward 
contempt  at  this  farcical  zeal,  this  fuss  and  foam  of 
incessant  preparation,  that  was  destined  only  to 
the  doom  of  ridicule  for  the  things  left  undone ;  to 
the  spectacle  of  half-completed  frigates  in  the  coming 
time,  rotting  on  their  mouldy  stocks,  beheld  with 


360  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

idle  curiosity  by  the  men  of  a  later  day,  who  should 
open  the  page  of  history  and  learn  with  edification 
of  the  official  mountains  of  naval  effort  that  labored 
for  achievement  on  either  shore  of  old  Ontario  and 
brought  forth  mice. 

I  began  unobtrusively  to  gain  what  information  I 
desired,  circulating  freely,  but  with  circumspection, 
among  my  acquaintances  and  others.  I  desired  to 
attend  to  this  as  soon  as  possible,  for  I  burned  with 
impatience  to  secure  John's  release,  with  Bantwell's 
assistance,  before  I  should  attempt  leaving  for  the 
Harbor.  This  I  hoped  we  could  accomplish  speedily, 
for  I  felt  ill  at  ease  because  of  the  dead  body  in  the 
woods  yonder.  It  was  almost  certain  to  be  dis- 
covered in  a  few  hours  and  an  investigation  would 
certainly  be  made.  True,  there  were  no  visible  clews 
to  betray  Cyrenus,  but  there  lurked  the  possibility 
of  some  luckless  circumstance  revealing  the  living 
actors  in  the  grim  drama.  I  wished,  as  I  reflected 
on  these  things,  that  we  could  have  sunk  the  body 
in  the  river,  but  the  distance  was  considerable  and 
detection  would  have  been  too  imminent.  Another 
consideration  caused  me  great  concern,  for  the  dead 
captain  had  told  me  that  he  knew  me  and  intended 
to  reveal  my  identity  to  the  defenders  of  the  town. 
If  he  did  know  me,  and  I  was  quite  certain  that  he 
did,  how  had  he  learned  it?  Must  it  not  have  been 
from  others,  and  in  this  very  place?  I  had  a  dis- 
quieting feeling  of  enemies  unseen  about  me,  and 
was  convinced  that  every  additional  moment  that 
I  spent  in  the  town  was  the  more  unhealthy.  I  was 
naturally  in  a  fever  of  impatience  to  get  away;  not 
for  my  own  sake,  particularly,  though  no  man  likes 
to  be  trapped  like  a  rat,  but  for  that  of  my  mission. 
That  John  should  come  with  me, .  however,  I  was. 


THE  ENEMY  PAVES  THE  WAY  361 

determined.  It  seemed  to  me,  in  my  morbid  state 
of  mind,  that  in  not  accompanying  him  to  the  lake 
shore  that  night  of  my  voluntary  departure  and  his 
unwilling  one,  that  I  was  in  a  measure  responsible 
for  sending  him  to  the  death  which  his  half-brother's 
devilish  ingenuity  was  devising  for  him.  I  should 
stay  by  him  to  the  end.  If  worst  came  to  worst,  I 
was  resolved  to  despatch  Cyrenus,  with  the  infor- 
mation I  had  gained  to  the  Harbor,  and  remain 
myself  for  whatever  might  come. 

With  the  fear  of  discovery  that  had  arisen  within 
me,  I  watched  suspiciously  for  any  signs  that  I  was 
detected.  None  were  apparent,  but  I  knew  the  bolt 
might  descend  at  any  moment  out  of  a  clear  sky. 

Just  then  I  felt  the  compelling  influence  of  the  hu- 
man eye.  I  turned.  Cyrenus  stood  at  a  little  dis- 
tance. He  sauntered  behind  a  boat-house.  I  strolled 
casually  in  that  direction  and  we  found  ourselves 
secure  from  observation. 

"  I  have  found  where  John  is,"  he  told  me  cautious- 
ly. His  manner  showed  an  odd  exaltation,  born 
doubtless  of  the  successful  issue  of  his  affair  of  the 
previous  night  and  the  good  fortune,  thus  far,  of  his 
present  one. 

"  You  lost  no  time,"  I  commented,  with  eager  satis- 
faction. "Where  is  he?" 

"Not  in  the  fortress,  as  I  supposed,"  he  answered, 
"but  in  that  old  limestone  building  that  stands 
about  a  quarter  mile  from  it.  You  may  have  noticed 
it." 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "Years  old,  isn't  it?  Didn't  it 
formerly  serve  the  purpose  of  a  French  prison? 
They're  guarding  him  well,  evidently." 

"  He's  under  ground,"  replied  Cyrenus.  "  There's  a 
dungeon  there." 


362  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"How  did  you  find  out?"    I  asked. 

"  Sentry,"  he  responded  briefly.  My  uniform  is 
right  now,  you  know,  for  this  business.  I  asked 
fool  questions  as  if  I  had  a  right  to  do  it  and  he 
answered  them  like  a  fool.  Seemed  surprised  that  I 
didn't  know  it.  Godfrey  seems  to  be  as  noted  on 
this  side  as  on  the  other.  Told  him  the  truth,  that 
I  was  a  new  arrival.  He  told  me  something  curious 
about  that  place."  He  paused.  I  eyed  him  inquir- 
ingly. 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  he  mused.  "Sentry  said 
that  the  building  proper  was  put  up  by  the  English 
some  years  ago.  When  they  dug  for  the  foundations 
they  came  to  a  floor  of  thick  stone.  Proved  to  be 
the  rock  roof  of  this  dungeon  that  is  holding  John 
at  present.  Well,  they  dug  around  it,  finally  locating 
the  wadls,  which  proved  to  be  in  natural  rock  in 
places  and  extended  at  the  ends  with  rough  masonry. 

"After  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  they  broke  a  passage- 
way through  one  wall.  They  found  the  dungeon 
completely  walled  in,  with  no  communication  from 
the  surface  of  the  earth  except  a  rude  air  shaft,  that 
was  well  hidden,  and  not  a  sign  of  a  clew  to  indicate 
where  the  entrance  might  be.  They  have  searched 
everywhere  for  secret  doors  and  springs  and  entrances 
and  have  never  found  them.  What  they  did  find, 
though,  were  chains  fastened  to  the  wall  for  prisoners 
and  a  heap  of  dry  bones  in  the  corner.  The  place 
is  a  mystery  they  have  never  been  able  to  solve. 
There  must  be  an  entrance  somewhere,  but  the 
English  were  never  able  to  find  it,  such  was  the  in- 
genuity of  the  French  who  built  the  tomb,  for  it 
was  nothing  else  in  those  old  days.  As  it  was,  the 
English  reconstructed  the  gap  they  had  forced  in 
the  wall  into  a  doorway  and  now  use  the  dungeon 


THE  ENEMY  PAVES  THE  WAY  363 

as  an  adjunct  to  the  building  which  they  built  over 
it.  The  French  prison  you  heard  of  is  that  dungeon. 
Wherever  that  secret  passage  is,  no  prisoner  whom 
the  English  have  ever  had  there  has  been  able  to 
find  it,  and  they  are  never  afraid  to  put  important 
captives  in  there,  even  though  they  know  there  must 
have  been  some  hidden  communication  with  it  by 
the  French  in  the  old  days.  It  is  a  strange  thing." 

I  stared.  "I  should  think  it  was,"  I  muttered, 
for  I  had  never  heard  of  it.  "  We  must  consider  get- 
ting John  out,"  I  resumed,  after  a  pause.  "I  must 
see  him." 

"How  will  you  manage  it?"    he  inquired. 

"  Perhaps  not  at  all,"  I  responded,  "though  I  shall 
try.  I  will  visit  headquarters  and  try  to  get  a  per- 
mit to  see  him.  I  shall  say  that  I  am  anxious  to 
see  the  man  accused  of  being  the  renegade  who  fired 
the  magazine  at  York,  because  I  wish  to  see  if  he 
is  the  same  man  I  met  on  the  other  side,  who  pub- 
licly boasted  of  some  dark  exploit  in  that  battle.  I 
shall  represent  that  I  desire  to  ascertain  if  possible, 
in  a  guarded  way,  what  he  knows  about  that  unfor- 
tunate affair." 

"Rather  thin,"  commented  Cyrenus,  "but  it  may 
work.  Of  course,  your  being  supposed  to  be  a  secret 
agent  of  theirs  may  make  it  appear  more  plausible. 
Well,  try  it,  and  meanwhile,  I'll  loaf  around." 

I  left  him,  proceeding  to  headquarters.  I  engaged 
in  conversation  with  some  officers  there,  conversing 
easily  upon  matters  of  which  we  were  mutually 
informed.  I  spoke  as  much  as  was  prudent  of  my 
pretended  service  in  the  king's  behalf  on  the  other 
side.  We  were  on  the  best  of  terms.  I  felt  reas- 
sured, for  I  was  clearly  not  suspected  yet,  after  all. 
My  spirits  rose. 


364  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"By  the  way,"  I  finally  observed,  carelessly  flick- 
ing away  my  cigar  ash  with  a  finger,  "  I  hear  you 
have  the  man  who  fired  the  powder  magazine  at 
Little  York." 

"  We  have  the  man  who  is  accused  of  doing  it,"  re- 
plied Major  Stuart,  who  was  temporarily  in  charge 
and  being  the  officer  whom  I  had  addressed. 

"  Rather  a  finely  shaded  distinction,"  I  commented, 
laughing.  "I  am  only  just  arrived,  you  know.  Is 
there  any  doubt  of  his  guilt?" 

"With  all  due  respect  to  our  arms,"  dryly  re- 
sponded the  major,  "  the  accuser  looks  more  capable 
of  having  done  it  than  the  accused."  One  or  two 
other  officers  nodded  silent  approval.  I  mentally 
followed  suit. 

"Who  is  the  prisoner?"  I  asked  carelessly.  "And 
who  accuses  him?" 

"  The  accused  is  one  John  Godfrey,"  he  answered. 
"The  accuser " 

"John  Godfrey!"  I  exclaimed,  straightening  in  my 
chair.  "  What  sort  of  man  is  he,  I  mean  in  appear- 
ance?" 

"  He  is  a  giant,"  with  conviction,  "  both  in  size 
and  strength.  He  was  captured  at  the  Harbor  it- 
self by  Red  Rolfe,  so-called,  with  some  of  the  red 
allies.  They  were  engaged,  at  the  time,  in  another 
mission  of  a  rather  strange  nature."  This  last  with 
a  peculiar  smile.  "Some  of  the  allies  are  not  yet 
fit  for  business,"  he  added. 

"I  can  readily  believe  that,"  I  observed,  "for  I 
have  seen  the  man.  Indeed,  I.  know  him.  I  have 
met  him  at  the  Harbor,  where,  as  you  know,  I  held 
a  commission  for  a  time  as  a  bona  fide  Yankee. 
Though  he  would  be  rather  surprised  to  see  me  in 
this  uniform." 


THE  ENEMY  PAVES  THE  WAY  365 

I  was  debating  how  best  to  approach  the  delicate 
matter  of  securing  leave  to  meet  him  when  Major 
Stuart  took  the  matter  out  of  my  hands. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  him?"  he  asked.  "For  we 
can  have  you  conducted  there,  if  you  wish." 

"  Why,  yes,"  I  answered,  rather  doubtfully,  though 
secretly  exultant.  "  Though,"  I  added  whimsically, 
"I  should  not  want  to  get  too  close  to  him  with 
this  uniform." 

Major  Stuart  laughed.  "Well,"  he  said,  "we  would 
be  glad  to  have  you  see  him,  if  only  to  witness  his 
surprise.  You  will  be  admitted  to-night." 

I  had  hoped  it  would  be  earlier,  but  concealing  my 
disappointment,  I  changed  the  subject.  After  chat- 
ting with  the  officers  a  while  longer,  I  took  my  leave. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
Unmasked 

Where  was  John's  father  all  this  time,  I  wondered. 
I  felt  that  he  must  be  far  from  Frontenac,  for  his 
fruitless  visit  to  the  Harbor  was  sufficient  to  assure 
me  that  had  he  heard  of  his  son's  plight  and  the 
monstrous  charge  lodged  against  him  he  would  ere 
now  have  been  here  to  move  heaven  and  earth  to 
extricate  him  from  the  difficulty.  A  little  inquiry, 
made  to  a  friend,  apprised  me  that  he  was  at  Mon- 
treal. The  villainous  scheme  of  Rolfe  was  made 
plain.  He  had  chosen  his  time  well,  and  if  he  could 
compass  John's  death  before  the  return  of  their  father 
he  would  do  it.  Not  if  I  could  prevent  it,  I  reflected 
grimly. 

Once,  in  the  late  afternoon,  I  saw  the  fiend.  I  was 
standing  in  the  door  of  the  King's  Inn  when  I  caught 
sight  of  him  walking  down  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street.  The  battered  hat,  the  what-not  uniform,  the 
blotchy,  bearded  face,  all  these  I  caught  with  a 
shudder  of  repulsion,  as  I  hastily  withdrew  from 
sight.  In  that  instant  he  turned  his  head.  Did  I 
imagine  it,  or  had  he  recognized  and  leered  at  me? 
I  could  not  be  sure,  but  the  sight  of  him  gave  me  a 
bad  turn.  I  had  hoped  him  miles  away.  I  was 
deeply  disturbed;  his  foul  presence  brought  some- 
thing like  a  premonition.  I  longed  for  night  and  the 
opportunity  to  plan  with  John  for  our  departure. 


UNMASKED  367 

Cyrenus  I  saw  no  more.  In  my  overwrought  state 
the  fact  produced  keen  irritation.  What  was  he  do- 
ing, I  wondered.  I  wandered  aimlessly  about,  keeping 
a  sharp  lookout  for  Red  Rolfe,  prepared  to  slip  out 
of  sight  at  his  approach.  However,  I  saw  nothing 
more  of  him  that  day.  I  employed  the  afternoon  in 
securing  the  rest  of  my  data,  but  the  time  dragged. 
An  evil  something  was  in  the  air,  a  something  I 
could  not  define.  Perhaps  it  had  to  do  with  the 
corpse  in  the  woods  yonder. 

I  supped  with  the  officers  at  the  King's  Inn.  After- 
ward I  lighted  my  pipe  and  strolled  down  to  the 
docks.  I  noted  a  couple  of  men  following  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, keeping  to  my  heels  with  strange  persistence. 
Of  course  I  could  not  swear  that  I  was  being  fol- 
lowed, but  what  did  it  mean? 

I  returned  to  the  inn,  going  into  the  taproom. 
It  was  still  early,  but  there  were  many  officers  there. 
There  was  but  little  else  to  do  in  Frontenac  just 
then.  The  indescribable  hum  of  conversation  sounded; 
wordless,  unintelligible,  in  strange  confusion.  There 
was  the  scraping  of  chairs  and  the  clinking  of  glasses ; 
boisterous  laughter,  the  banging  of  great  fists  upon 
shuddering  tables.  Mine  weasel-faced  host  and  his 
assistants  scampered  hither  and  yon  like  scared 
rabbits,  breathless  with  business,  while  the  scores 
mounted  up  like  a  balloon.  I  sat  with  some  friends 
and  some  capital  ale,  when  the  door  opened,  and  in 
walked  the  two  men  who  I  was  convinced  had  been 
shadowing  me.  I  made  no  sign,  but  the  ale  grew 
suddenly  more  bitter  than  the  brewer  ever  intended  it. 

My  potion  finished,  I  was  about  to  excuse  myself 
and  proceed  to  headquarters  for  my  permit  to  visit 
John,  when  Major  Stuart  and  a  couple  of  other  offi- 
cers I  had  met  there  entered  the  room,  seating  them- 


3 68  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

selves  at  a  table  and  ordering  drinks.  I  arose,  mak- 
ing my  way  to  them.  I  saluted,  addressing  the 
major. 

"You  will  recollect  that  you  suggested  my  seeing 
the  prisoner  to-night,  Major  Stuart,"  I  said.  "I 
hope  the  visit  will  be  profitable  to  us." 

"Ah,  yes,  Lieutenant,"  he  replied  urbanely.  "You 
shall  see  him  presently,  rest  assured,  and  I  am  sure 
that  your  visit  will  prove  profitable  to  us." 

There  was  something  sinister  in  his  tone.  What 
did  it  mean?  I  was  afraid  to  answer,  even  to  my- 
self. I  turned  away,  saluting,  and  rejoined  my  com- 
panions, a  question  knocking  at  my  heart  like  win- 
try sleet  tapping  against  a  window.  Did  I  fancy  it, 
or  was  there  a  glance  of  swift  significance  exchanged 
between  the  major  and  the  two  men  opposite  me? 

The  buzz  went  on,  the  swigging  of  ale,  the  sipping 
of  spirits,  the  loud  laughter.  I  sat  outwardly  calm, 
but  feeling  as  if  I  was  being  gradually  hemmed  in, 
closer  and  closer,  by  a  living  wall ;  as  if  a  crisis  were 
at  hand. 

Suddenly  there  came  loud  voices  from  outside,  the 
tramping  of  many  feet.  The  door  was  flung  wide, 
and  through  it  there  strode  a  strange  cortege 
whose  coming  brought  a  still  hush ;  the  tramp  of  a 
fearsome  company  who  trod  to  the  center  of  the 
room,  and  bending,  laid  a  huddled  something  on  the 
floor;  a  ghastly  something  at  which  men  gazed  with 
mouths  agape  and  blanched  faces,  making  no  sound; 
a  bloody  something  that  seemed  to  emanate  a 
deathly  chill  that  struck  to  the  hearts  of  all  that 
watching  company.  For  at  the  feet  of  wild,  rol- 
licking life  had  been  laid  the  gray  mask  of  death, 
the  cadaver  of  one  who  had  been  the  most  uproar- 
ious devil  of  them  all.  And  the  coming  of  that  poor, 


UNMASKED  369 

cold  clay  back  to  the  room  where  it  had  so  often 
held  unholy  carnival,  on  the  floor  of  which  it  now 
lay  blind,  insensate,  a  thing  of  livid  horror,  exacted 
the  tribute  that  must  eternally  be  paid  to  the  soul- 
quit  temple,  however  desecrated — the  tribute  of 
stunned  silence. 

A  moment  so,  and  then  there  burst  within  the  room 
a  babel  of  sound,  of  helpless  questioning,  of  vague 
surmise,  of  horror  unrestrained. 

"  Chichester ! "-"  Murdered ! "— "  Who  did  it  ?"- 
"Poor  drunken  devil!" — "Where  was  he  found?" 
—"Through  the  heart,  eh?"— "I  saw  him  last  night."— 
"Good  God!" 

Major  Stuart  was  bending .  over  the  body,  which 
was  surrounded.  He  raised  his  hand.  "Silence!" 
he  cried.  "  Stand  back  !"  The  red-coated  rush  ebbed, 
like  out-bound  tides,  on  either  side. 

"  This  looks  like  a  so-called  affair  of  honor,"  said 
the  major.  "  I  am  informed  that  the  body  was  found 
in  the  woods  just  outside  the  clearing,  which  has 
been  used  for  a  settlement  of  differences  by  king's  men 
who  should  have  had  no  differences.  Is  any  man 
here  responsible  for  that  officer's  death?" 

There  was  no  reply.  I  became  conscious  of  a 
brutal  face  turned  toward  me;  of  cruel  eyes,  like  a 
cat's,  peering  into  my  own ;  of  a  coarse  hand  pluck- 
ing in  triumph  at  the  red  hairs  of  a  coarser  beard. 
He  stood  beside  the  body,  which  he  had  helped  to 
carry  in. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  in  those  deep,  musical  tones 
of  his  that  drew  the  attention  of  the  entire  roomful ; 
"perhaps  the  lieutenant  there  knows  of  it.  There 
are  those  here  who  will  remember  a  lively  to-do  be- 
tween him  and  the  deceased  on  that  very  spot,  two 
years  gone." 


370  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

They  all  stared  at  me.  There  was  a  strained  si- 
lence. 

"That  quarrel  was  never  renewed,"  I  answered 
quietly.  "At  least,  not  in  that  way." 

"Lieutenant,"  interposed  Major  Stuart,  "did  you 
kill  that  man?" 

"I  did  not!"  I  rejoined,  with  emphasis.  The  com- 
pany murmured.  "It  matters  little  whether  you 
did  or  not!"  snarled  Red  Rolfe,  shaking  a  swollen 

fist   at    me.     "You'll    hang    anyway,    you    d d. 

spy!" 

"Spy!"  I  exclaimed  angrily,  "explain  yourself!" 
But  I  went  cold  all  over. 

Again  Major  Stuart  raised  his  hand.  "I  will  ex- 
plain, Lieutenant,"  he  told  me,  while  again  that 
great  room  went  still.  "You  are  a  brave  man, 
sir,  and  I  hope  you  may  suffer  an  ignominious  death 
like  one.  You  have  been  watched  for  days,  shad- 
owed almost  constantly  since  you  left  Montreal. 
Attempts  to  warn  you  during  the  past  few  days 
from  your  own  side,  have  been  diverted.  Indeed,  the 
knowledge  has  been  confined  but  to  a  few  of  us. 
Your  success,  Captain,"  with  a  slight  smile,  as  for 
the  first  time  he  recollected  my  proper  title,  "in  be- 
fooling us  these  two  years  cannot  but  compel  our 
admiration,  but  your  course  is  all  but  run.  You 
have,  speaking  literally,  come  to  the  end  of  your 
rope,  for  you  know  the  stern  penalty  prescribed  for 
such  as  you  who  are  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  de- 
tected. By  a  strange  whim  of  nature,  aided  by  the 
private  papers  of  the  man  you  have  so  successfully 
simulated,  together  with  your  own  natural  resource 
and  daring,  you  have  been  enabled  to  obtain  success 
almost  beyond  belief.  Only  the  merest  accident  has 
destroyed  you.  Can  you  guess  it?" 


UNMASKED  371 

"  Some  one,  of  course,  has  betrayed  me,"  I  icplied, 
summoning  a  rather  sorry  smile,  "though  just  now 
I  am  at  a  loss  to  guess  who." 

"Did  you  not  have  dealings  with  suspicious  char- 
acters on  your  own  side?"  suggested  the  officer.  I 
started.  "You  mean "  I  exclaimed. 

"One  Miles  Osgood,"  he  supplied.  "He  knew  he 
was  suspected  and  left  just  in  time.  Afterward," 
with  a  repressed  sneer,  "he  became  identified  with 
the  cohorts  of  our  friend  Rolfe  here.  I  have  under- 
stood he  heard  a  conversation  between  you  and 
your  incarcerated  friend  yonder,  near  his  hut  at 
Sackets  Harbor,  whither  he  was  stealing  to  secure 
some  hidden  funds  of  his,  not  long  ago,  which  im- 
pelled him  to  try  a  shot  at  you.  It  resulted  in  his 
discomfiture,  for  you  sent  him  to  Watertown  a  pris- 
oner. But  in  that  conversation  which  he  heard 
you  let  drop  a  remark  regarding  your  sphere  of 
effort  which  aroused  his  suspicion.  Upon  reaching 
the  prison  there  he  accidently  made  a  discovery, 
a  discovery  that  was  ordinarily  well  guarded  against, 
which  confirmed  that  suspicion.  Miles,  an  old  hand 
and  accustomed  to  worming  out  of  difficulties,  man- 
aged to  make  his  escape  in  time  to  keep  an  ap- 
pointment with  Red  Rolfe  here,  and  some  of  his 
allies.  They,  by  the  way,  had  by  arrangement  em- 
barked for  your  shores  the  day  prior  to  Osgood's 
escape.  The  object  was  a  purely  predatory  one  and 
what  followed  was  an  accident,  though  a  fortunate 
one  for  us.  Rolfe  ran  his  schooner  one  dark  night 
up  your  bay  and  cunningly  left  it  concealed  in  a 
cleverly  arranged  screen  of  greenery  in  an  unfre- 
quented deep  spot  close  to  shore.  There  it  remained 
unmolested  till  the  crew  were  ready  to  return.  Os- 
good escaped  just  in  time  to  join  the  band  on  its 


373  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

arrival,  which  he  had  arranged  to  do.  He  encoun- 
tered Rolfe  in  the  forest  near  Fish  Island  and  told 
him  of  you  and  also  of  his  discovery  in  the  Water- 
town  prison.  It  did  not  take  Rolfe  long  to  grasp  the 
situation.  Osgood,  under  cover,  shadowed  you  for  a 
day  or  two,  for  the  two  had  determined  to  make  a 
double  coup  before  returning.  The  Watertown  prison 
was  to  afford  one  captive  and  you,  Captain,  were  to 
be  the  other.  Osgood  followed  you  from  Watertown 
upon  a  night  you  will  remember  to  the  rendezvous 
you  had  appointed  for  an  expected  messenger.  He 
had  learned  that  this  was  to  be  the  place.  Red 
Rolfe  and  his  allies  were  to  proceed  there  from  their 
post  in  the  woods  near  Fish  Island.  Osgood  was 
concealed  in  the  ruins  of  a  cabin  nearby.  He  grew 
impatient,  not  knowing  if  Rolfe  had  intercepted  the 
messenger,  as  he  intended  doing,  and  fearing  that  the 
envoy  would  arrive  and  that  you  would  give  him 
the  papers  and  leave  before  you  could  be  captured. 
Moreover,  he  wondered  why  Rolfe  did  not  arrive. 
He  left  the  cabin,  took  a  good  look  to  be  sure  it 
was  yourself,  and  was  then  about  to  slip  into  the 
forest  to  see  if  he  could  discover  Rolfe  when  you 
heard  him  and  turned.  I  understand  they  buried 
him  as  a  result  of  the  encounter." 

"I  believe  so,"  I  returned,  "though  the  encounter 
was  perhaps  not  in  itself  directly  responsible.  I  wish 
it  had  been." 

The  major  smiled.  "I  can  appreciate  your  feel- 
ings, Captain,"  he  said.  "  It  is  somewhat  ruffling  to 
learn  that  we  have  been  duped  when  it  appeared  as 
if  we  were  on  solid  ground.  At  any  rate,  you  es- 
caped the  programme  arranged  for  you  for  the  time 
being.  Rolfe  arrived  too  late  to  be  of  any  assistance 
to  his  friend.  There  was  no  one  there,  though  he 


UNMASKED  373 

looked  about  carefully.  He  encountered  the  messenger 
later,  on  his  way  to  the  rendezvous,  and  explained 
to  him  how  we  had  all  been  tricked  for  so  long. 
After  that  your  detection  was  only  a  question  of 
time.  It  was  necessary  only  to  keep  quiet  and  use 
discretion.  Rolfe  learned  of  the  fate  of  his  assistant 
later,  for  it  was  talked  among  the  soldiers  and  came 
to  the  ears  of  some  of  his  men." 

So  it  was  Red  Rolfe  that  I  had  seen  on  the  brink 
of  the  cliff  that  night.  As  I  remembered  it  now,  the 
figure  had  looked  oddly  squat  and  familiar.  And  the 
dead  man  had  told  me  he  had  escaped  only  that  night ! 
Ah !  blind  dupe  that  I  had  been !  I  had  blindly  run 
my  own  head  into  the  halter. 

"But  you  will  remember,  Captain,'*  pursued  the 
major,  "that  I  mentioned  that  from  Osgood,  Red 
Rolfe  here  had  learned  of  a  prisoner  at  Watertown, 
confined  there  for  two  long  years  and  more,  and  of 
the  peculiar  circumstances  connected  therewith.  A 
day  or  two  after  his  ineffectual  attempt  to  capture 
you,  he  and  his  men  made  their  way  undetected 
through  the  woods  to  Watertown.  That  night  there 
was  a  jail  delivery  that  was  not  discovered  till  the 
next  day,  so  cleverly  was  it  managed.  In  that  same 
night,  following  a  breakneck  trip  on  borrowed  horses 
to  the  spot  where  the  schooner  was  secreted,  Rolfe 
picked  up  the  friend  to  whom  I  promised  you  this 
morning  that  you  should  to-night  be  conducted, 
though  this  was  quite  by  accident.  Rolfe  had  man- 
aged the  delivery  I  have  referred  to  with  a  few  picked 
men,  leaving  the  bulk  of  the  band  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  hidden  schooner.  Your  friend  heard  them  talk- 
ing and  investigated,  chancing  to  step  into  the  midst 
of  them.  They  knew  him,  it  seems,  and  he  at  once 
had  his  hands  full  of  Indians.  I  believe  they  also 


had  their  hands  full  of  him.  However,  when  Rolfe 
arrived  with  his  assistants  and  the  freed  prisoner 
your  large  friend  was  secured  and  ready  for  him. 
A  serious  charge  rests  against  him,  for  Rolfe  has 
many  witnesses,  and  I  fear  you  are  likely  to  meet 
death  together. 

"  In  the  schooner  that  sailed  out  of  your  bay  that 
night,  there  was,  in  addition  to  your  friend,  another 
passenger,  one  whom  these  gentlemen  have  never 
seen,  but  one  they  will  welcome.  He  is  here."  He 
beckoned  toward  the  outer  shadows. 

I  knew  whom  I  should  see.  I  remembered  a  fierce 
encounter  in  gathering  dusk,  a  recoil  of  mutual 
amazement,  a  struggle  and  a  stern  chase,  the  final 
capture  of  a  gallant  foe.  After  that,  a  prisoner 
doomed  to  execution  and  spared  by  a  warm  hearted 
general  at  the  united  petition  of  his  two  captors ;  a 
prisoner  confined  secretly  for  two  long  years,  while 
I  assumed  his  role  with  a  bravado  that,  after  all, 
was  not  so  reckless  as  it  seemed— till  now.  For  now, 
from  the  outer  shadows  into  the  candlelight  there 
stepped  and  stood  confronting  me,  amid  bewildered 
stares  and  gasps  of  incredulous  amazement — my 
counterpart ! 

The  same  height  and  carriage,  the  same  eyes,  hair 
and  features,  the  startling  sameness  even  to  the  red 
uniform  he  wore.  There  was  a  breathless  silence, 
broken  by  Major  Stuart's  sarcastic  voice. 

"Lieutenant  Percy  Stranahan,"  said  he  ironically, 
"allow  me  to  re-present  to  you  one  whom  I  believe 
you  have  met  previously,  Captain  Gilbert  Warburton, 
at  present  of  the  Secret  Service  of  the  U.  S.  A.,  in  a 
word,  your  double,  whom  I  fear  must  shortly  die." 

"The  latter  contingency,"  responded  the  young 
officer,  and  sincerity  rang  in  his  tone,  "would  be 


UNMASKED  375 

most  genuinely  regrettable.  I  shall  do  what  I  can 
to  make  it  impossible."  And  our  hands  met. 

"The  third  fall,"  queried  I.  "Do  you  remember 
it?  Well,  you  have  won  it'.  I  bear  you  no  malice." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  replied  earnestly.  "  It  is  the  for- 
tune of  war.  Believe  me,  if  I  can  aid  you ' 

"As  you  say,  it  is  the  fortune  of  war,"  I  inter- 
rupted. "It  is  now  as  God  wills.  In  the  meantime, 
Lieutenant  Stranahan,"  I  added,  with  I  trust  a  little 
of  the  sang  froid  which  the  "situation  demanded, 
"  allow  me  to  congratulate  you  upon  being  no  longer 
nameless.  I  take  pleasure  in  returning  to  you  your 
name, — which  has  served  me  better  here  previously 
than  my  own  is  serving  me  now,— and  with  it  these 
documents  that  gave  my  assumption  of  it  some 
needed  plausibility."  I  bowed  and  placed  his  papers, 
which  I  always  carried  for  convenience's  sake,  in  his 
hand. 

Major  Stuart  made  a  sign.  A  file  of  soldiers,  who 
had  evidently  been  in  waiting  outside,  entered,  sur- 
rounding me.  I  caught  sight  of  Cyrenus  near  the 
door,  an  enigmatical  expression  on  his  leathery  face, 
the  sour  smile  on  his  lips.  The  file  moved,  my  luck- 
less self  in  the  midst.  Through  the  gaping  crowd  I 
went,  past  the  huddled  heap  on  the  floor,  by  the 
wizened  Cyrenus  and  the  leering  Rolfe,  into  the  outer 
darkness,  to  join  John, 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 
Cyrenus  Smites  the  Rock 

Through  the  town  we  went,  down  the  long  walk, 
our  steps  ringing  on  the  flagstones,  the  gabble  of  a 
pursuing  throng  sounding  in  our  ears.  Presently  we 
turned  upon  a  less  frequented  street,  and,  after  some 
minutes'  walk,  came  to  the  old  gray  building, 
ghostly  in  the  moonlight.  We  descended  some  stone 
steps,  passing  a  few  posted  sentries,  and  advanced  to 
a  massive  door,  upon  which  the  sergeant  in  charge  of 
my  escorting  detail  knocked  sharply.  It  swung 
open  ponderously  with  the  rasping  turn  of  a  key 
from  within  and  the  rattle  of  released  chains.  We 
stepped  inside  and  the  door  banged  to,  shutting 
us  off  from  the  curious  stare  of  the  crowd  without. 
We  found  ourselves  in  a  dark  passage,  with  nothing 
visible  in  the  gloom.  The  sergeant  bawled  for  a 
lantern.  Soon  one  appeared,  borne  by  a  slouchy, 
red-faced  soldier  in  his  shirt  sleeves.  We  walked  to 
the  end  of  the  passage  and  paused,  while  the  lantern 
bearer  unbarred  a  great,  iron-ribbed  door. 

It  swung  open,  creaking  on  rusted  hinges.  There 
came  a  damp,  mouldy  breath  from  the  regions  be- 
low, coldly  pestilential.  We  descended  some  stone 
steps,  preceded  by  the  lantern  bearer,  whose  light 
showed  wanly  ahead,  a  sickly  yellow  splotch  in  the 
dark.  It  was  very  dismal.  I  caught  myself  wonder- 
ing when  I  should  ascend  those  steps  again. 


CYRENUS  SMITES  THE  ROCK  377 

At  the  bottom  we  traversed  an  uneven  stretch  of 
floor,  formed,  I  judged,  from  the  solid  rock.  I  stum- 
bled once  or  twice  over  unseen  projections,  being 
jerked  none  too  gently  to  my  feet  by  my  escort. 

We  descended  six  more  steps.  There  was  the  rat- 
tling of  chains,  the  scrape  of  a  huge  key,  and  I  was 
shoved  forward  to  join  John. 

I  found  myself  in  a  large,  noisome,  oblong  hole, 
rockribbed  below  and  above  and  with  chill  gray 
walls,  also  of  massive  rock,  which  reeked  with  damp- 
ness. The  air  was  foul,  telling  of  a  mockery  of  ven- 
tilation, and  there  were  great  rusty  rings  and  shackles 
set  in  the  floor  and  the  thick  walls,  though  I  was 
glad  to  see  they  were  not  in  use. 

Seated  on  a  low,  wooden  stool  in  a  corner,  as  I  en- 
tered, was  a  great,  huddled  figure.  He  rose  as  we 
came  in,  towering  by  a  head  over  the  tallest  man  in 
the  company.  Dazzled  by  the  dull  glare  of  the  lan- 
tern, his  eyes  blinked  owlishly  for  an  instant,  then 
became  widened  as  they  rested  on  me. 

"Captain  Godfrey,"  said  the  sergeant,  with  some 
sarcasm,  "  Captain  Warburton  wished  this  morning 
to  be  conducted  to  you.  The  king's  men  are  always 
obliging.  Here  he  is.  I  trust  you  will  keep  merry 
company  until  we  lead  you  forth  together  to  be 
jerked  God-ward  from  the  same  scaffold." 

He  stood  grinning  at  us,  surrounded  by  his  mates, 
while  we  silently  regarded  each  other;  amazement  in 
his  eyes,  heaven  knows  what  in  my  own,  for  they 
were  misty.  The  light,  perhaps.  It  was  such  a  miser- 
able end  to  it  all! 

The  sergeant's  voice  again  sounded,  rumbling  hol- 
lowly in  that  grim  hole. 

"Doubtless  you  two  will  want  to  gaze  at  each 
other,"  he  said.  "It  would  be  a  pity  to  leave  a 


378  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

couple  of  such  luckless  devils  in  the  dark  on  the 
night  of  their  reunion.  Leave  the  lantern,  Tom," 
addressing  the  man  who  had  lighted  us  hither,  "  and 
chase  up  for  another  to  get  back  with.  I  can't  find 
my  way  out  over  these  blasted  stones  without  one." 

This  was  considerate  and  I  thanked  him.  He  grunted 
gruffly,  while  we  heard  the  slouchy  Thomas  cursing 
as  he  stumbled  up  through  the  gloom  for  the  lan- 
tern. Presently  he  returned  with  one,  and  the  squad 
left  the  dungeon,  banging  the  heavy  door  behind 
them.  We  heard  the  slipping  of  bolts  and  the  rat- 
tling of  chains.  Then  the  footsteps  grew  fainter,  till 
at  length  came  silence. 

We  gripped  hands,  searching  each  other's  eyes.  His 
own,  staring  wistfully  out  of  a  face  that  was  already 
chalky  with  a  deadly  prison  pallor,  and  covered 
with  a  beard  grown  unkempt  in  his  confinement,  held 
a  puzzled  questioning. 

"  How,  in  God's  name,  Gilbert,"  he  began, "but 

first,  have  you  your  pipe  with  you,  or  did  they  take 
it?  I  haven't  had  a  smoke  since  my  latest  fraternal 
encounter,  which  resulted  as  you  see." 

I  still  had  one  and  produced  it,  together  with  my 
tobacco  pouch.  John  filled  up  and  leaned  back 
against  the  wall  on  his  stool,  puffing  contentedly. 
"  Tell  me  about  it,  Gilbert,"  said  he,  with  half-closed 
eyes. 

I  did  so  from  the  beginning.  "And  they  plan  a 
bird-like  ending  for  me,  as  you  heard,  in  the  air,"  I 
concluded  dryly. 

"What  a  lark  for  them,"  he  observed,  and  his  eyes 
twinkled.  "  I  gather  also  that  they  intend  the  same 
for  me.  Did  you  happen  to  hear  on  what  charge? 
I  am  rather  curious." 

"Have  you  not  heard?"  I  asked  him  in  surprise. 


CYRENUS  SMITES  THE  ROCK  379 

Truly  the  ways  of  his  captor  had  been  invested  with 
a  most  diabolic  cunning  and  reserve. 

"  Why,  no,"  he  replied.  "  Until  the  moment  of  the 
sergeant's  recent  cheering  assurance,  I  should  not 
have  known  that  I  was  accounted  more  than  an  or- 
dinary prisoner  of  war,  though  I  confess  this  extreme 
solicitude  for  my  safe  keeping  has  struck  me  as  some- 
what significant." 

"  Your  amiable  kinsman,  Red  Rolfe,  for  such  I  pre- 
fer to  call  him,"  I  replied  grimly,  "has  lodged  an 
accusation  against  you.  He  charges  you  with  being 
an  English  renegade  who  fired  the  magazine  at  York. 
He  means  to  have  you  hanged." 

His  white  face  grew  awful  to  gaze  upon.  A  moment 
he  sat  in  silence,  then  he  spoke,  only  three  livid,  hiss- 
ing words.  And  to  me,  sitting  there  in  silence,  the  curse 
of  that  wronged,  doomed  giant  arose  to  the  Throne 
as  a  justified,  burning  prayer. 

John  arose  after  a  time  and  paced  the  cell  like  a 
caged  beast,  his  eyes  blazing,  his  great  hands  clenched, 
muttering  hot  maledictions,  shaking  impotent  fists, 
while  I  watched  him  dumbly.  All  the  murderous  re- 
sentment of  his  ruined  life,  all  the  rancor  of  a  heart 
burning  with  bitterness,  flamed  in  his  face  and 
dropped,  white-hot,  from  his  lips.  After  a  while  he 
stopped  in  his  rapid  walk,  throwing  himself  upon 
his  pallet,  one  end  of  which  I  occupied.  The  sickly 
flame  of  the  lantern  threw  a  strange  glow  upon  his 
white  face,  now  calming,  giving  little  sign  of  the 
storm  that  had  shaken  him. 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  said,  with  a  bitter  laugh,  "  this  does 
no  good."  He  paused  a  moment.  "  But  it's  hard 
to  die  like  dogs,  you  and  I,  Gilbert,"  he  resumed, 
"when  we've  everything  to  live  for,  and  to  be  done 
to  death  by  him !  Think  of  it !  To  think  that 


3 So    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

you  and  I  must  die  in  the  coils  of  a  snake  like  him. 
I  should  have  killed  him  long  ago,  but  I  would  have 
had  to  gone  gloved,  Gilbert,  after  my  hands  were 
stained  with  his  black  blood.  They  would  never 
bleach  out.  They  would  be  like  those  of  Black  Julius ; 
you  remember  him?"  He  laughed  harshly. 

"I  wonder  where  my  precious  father  is?"  he  con- 
tinued sarcastically,  "  my  father  who  was  once  a 
fool?  I  wonder  if  he  yet  appreciates  the  enormity 
of  his  foolishness?  'As  ye  sow,  so  shall  ye  reap.' 
His  seed  fell  on  good  ground,  didn't  it?  And  I'm 
wallowing  in  the  thorns  and  thistles.  Hark,  what 
was  that?" 

There  was  an  odd,  scraping  sound,  seeming  to  come 
from  under  my  feet.  A  moment  it  lasted,  then  ceased. 
"  Rats,"  I  commented,  but  he  shook  his  head. 

"  This  is  a  queer  place,"  he  observed,  "  it  seems  to 
be  independent  of  the  rest  of  the  building." 

I  told  him  what  Cyrenus  had  said  in  regard  to  it. 

"  It  is  peculiar,"  he  mused,  "  and  hard  to  credit.  If 
there  ever  was  a  secret  entrance,  it  must  have  been 
disposed  of  long  ago.  Can  you  see  any  sign,  however 
dim,  of  such  a  doorway  to  freedom  ?  I  have  exam- 
ined this  place  quite  thoroughly  myself." 

I  shook  my  head  mournfully  and  a  dim  hope  died. 
But  now  there  came  a  new  sound,  that  of  approach- 
ing footsteps  from  without.  Then  there  was  a  rattle, 
the  dungeon  door  swung  open,  and  into  the  cell 
stepped,  pale  and  agitated,  John's  father,  he  whom 
I  had  assisted  so  recently,  at  the  time  of  need,  in 
Sackets  Harbor. 

The  men  remained  a  breathless  moment,  staring 
into  one  another's  faces.  The  old  officer  was  a  hand- 
some, stalwart  man  of  over  six  feet.  His  hair  and 
beard  were  gray.  There  was  a  strong  resemblance 


CYRENUS  SMITES  THE  ROCK  381 

between  them,  though  the  father's  eyes  were  blue. 
Just  now  they  were  full  of  trouble.  He  gazed,  across 
the  gap  of  years,  at  the  unsmiling  face  of  his  son, 
with  mute  appeal.  He  seemed  not  to  notice  me,  his 
eyes  only  for  his  boy. 

"Take  a  seat,"  said  John  finally,  indicating  almost 
anywhere  about  the  nearly  bare  floor  with  the  sweep 
of  his  arm.  "  To  what  am  I  indebted  for  the  honor 
of  this  visit?  The  accommodations  here  are  few, 
but  such  as  I  have  you  are  welcome  to.  I  had  not 
thought  to  see  you  again,  except  it  be  perhaps  in 
the  crowd  I  should  face  from  the  scaffold." 

The  older  man  winced  as  from  a  blow.  "  I  have 
but  a  few  minutes;  they  are  very  strict,"  he  said 
hurriedly.  "  I  came  from  Montreal  as  soon  as  I 
heard.  For  my  sake,  for  your  dead  mother's  sake, 
boy,  forgive  the  past!" 

John's  face  grew  stern.  "Do  not  mention  my 
mother,  sir,"  he  said  bitterly.  "You " 

"Stop!"  cried  his  father,  positive  torture  in  his 
face.  "  Have  I  not  suffered  from  the  beginning, 
more  horribly  than  you  can  ever  know?  Do  I  not 
suffer  still?  My  conscience  is  all  I  can  bear;  do  not 
add  to  the  burden!" 

"Why  did  you  believe  my  brother?"  with  a  writhing 
lip.  "That  day  I  left  England,  do  you  recollect  it? 
Why  were  you  so  willing  to  swallow  the  lie  he 
rammed  down  your  throat?  Why,  you  thought 
that  I,  instead  of  he,  had  robbed  you!"  There  was 
deep  scorn  in  his  tone. 

"I  was  thrice  a  fool,"  miserably  answered  the 
elder  man,  with  downcast  head.  From  my  soul  I 
pitied  him.  "  I  was  morbid  in  regard  to  my  sin  and 
hoped,  weakly,  as  I  know  to  my  cost,  to  remedy 
it  in  some  small  measure.  And  you,— you  had  been 


382  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

wild,  you  know,  and  he  was  very  smug  in  those 
days.  He  deceived  me.  The  gnat  and  the  camel." 

"I  was  always  frank,"  returned  the  son,  "in  sin 
as  well  as  in  sobriety !  And  he, — why,  his  dog's 
face,  man! — had  you  no  eyes?" 

"I  was  blind — blind!"  he  answered,  and  shook 
like  a  reed. 

John's  stern  face  relaxed  somewhat.  "Ah,  well," 
he  muttered  dryly,  "it's  a  tale  that  is  nearly  told. 
We  are  all  puppets  pulled  by  strings,  and  Fate  holds 
them.  Mine  and  Gilbert's  here  will  be  about 
the  neck,  that  is  all.  Others  have  danced  the  hang- 
man's jig.  You  and  I,  Gilbert,  will  have  to  execute 
some  new  steps  on  that  festive  occasion." 

The  man  opposite  him  shuddered,  his  face  showing 
gray  in  the  dim  light. 

"  Tell  me,"  pursued  John,  "  how  you  learned  I  was 
alive  and  here.  Your  knowledge  is  a  source  of  some 
surprise  to  me,  as  my  personality  has  been  veiled 
quite  as  completely  as  the  face  of  an  Eastern  bride 
for  some  years  past." 

"  I  saw  you  at  Little  York,"  answered  the  old  man 
humbly.  "  It  was  when  you  were  embarking  to 
leave  for  Sackets  Harbor.  I  was  wounded  in  the  en- 
gagement and  was  in  bed  in  a  house  near  the  lake 
shore.  I  would  know  you  anywhere.  Ill  as  I  was,  I 
hobbled  to  the  door  calling  to  you,  but  you  did  not 
hear  me.  Afterward  I  learned  under  what  name  you 
were  living  and  of  your  fame  in  the  forest  and  your 
record  with  the  army  yonder.  I  was  and  am  proud 
of  you.  I  sent  you  messages,  but  I  judge  you  never 
received  them." 

"No,"  replied  John,  "I  never  have."  His  mood 
was  softening,  and  I  was  glad,  for  I  pitied  the  gray 
old  man  with  the  wistful  blue  eyes. 


CYRENUS  SMITES  THE  ROCK          383 

"Once,"  continued  the  father,  "I  went  to  Sackets 
Harbor  to  see  you.  I  was  in  disguise.  It  was  risky, 
but  I  wanted  to  find  you.  You  were  away  on  some 
mission.  I  was  forced  to  return  unsuccessful.  I 
should  have  fared  ill  there  had  it  not  been  for  the 
kindness  of  a  young  officer,  a  Captain  Warburton, 
who  contrived  to  get  me  away  safely.  I  learned  by 
accident  in  Montreal  of  your  incarceration  here, 
through  a  letter  received  by  an  acquaintance,  and 
came  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"Captain  Warburton,"  replied  John,  "is  also  in 
trouble.  He  finds  himself  in  a  tight  box,  indeed  as 
tight  a  one  as  do  I.  Our  cases  are  equally  dubious." 

"Warburton  in  trouble?  How  so?"  inquired  the 
old  officer.  "To  what  plight  do  you  refer?" 

John  beckoned  me  from  the  dim  corner,  where  I  had 
withdrawn  at  the  meeting  of  the  two,  into  the  lan- 
tern light.  "Do  you  recognize  this  gentleman?"  he 
asked. 

Major  Aberdeen  glanced  toward  me  for  the  first 
time.  "Why,  Warburton!"  he  exclaimed.  "How 
come  you  to  be  here,  and  in  company  with  my  son  ?" 

"It  is  the  result  of  a  division  of  identities,"  re- 
plied John,  with  a  slight  smile,  and  breifly  explained 
the  strange  circumstances  of  our  mutual  capture  of 
my  double,  of  my  assumption  of  the  role,  the  en- 
suing operations  and  my  final  discomfiture,  forbear- 
ing, however,  as  yet  to  state  the  identity  of  the  man 
who  had  returned  with  the  real  Stranahan  whose  ap- 
pearance had  capped  the  climax  at  the  King's  Inn 
a  little  while  before.  The  major  himself  made  the 
inquiry. 

"  Who  brought  back  the  real  Stranahan  ?"  he  asked. 
Then,  with  a  searching  glance  at  me,  he  exclaimed : 
"For  genuine,  impudent  daring  I  have  never  heard 


584  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

Anything  to  excel  this  !  I  had  often  heard  of  Strana- 
han,  the  Stranahan  who  was  yourself,  sir.  He  was 
accounted  most  capable  and  efficient  by  us  of  this 
side.  And  how  cleverly  you  managed  it  at  Sackets 
Harbor !  I  never  entertained  a  suspicion  of  you." 

"  It  is  over  now,"  I  smiled  ruefully,  "  though  I 
think  I  did  fairly  well  while  I  was  alive,  for  Strana- 
han is  now  dead  as  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"  The  man  who  betrayed  Gilbert  here,  through  the 
affair  yonder,  is  the  man  who  betrayed  me,"  said 
John,  eying  his  father  curiously.  "  You  know  doubt- 
Jess  of  the  charge  against  me  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  old  man,  "but  I  do  not  believe 
it." 

"Thank  you,"  said  John,  a  trifle  ironically.  "Do 
you  happen  to  know  of  the  identity  of  my  accuser?" 

"No,"  responded  his  father,  "I  have  not  chanced 
to  hear,  nor  have  inquired." 

"It  is  the  man  who  has  undone  Warburton;  it  is 
the  man  seen  by  Gilbert  and  myself  to  have  himself 
committed  the  deed,"  said  John,  quietly  but  with 
kindling  eyes.  "A  man  in  whom  you  and  I  have  a 
common  interest.  In  a  word,  Red  Rolfe." 

The  old  man  sat  stunned,  with  stony,  horrified 
face.  "God  have  mercy!"  he  ejaculated  in  odd, 
muffled  tones.  The  cruel  wave  of  his  early  sin  beat 
back  upon  him  across  the  gray  years. 

There  sounded  impatient  movements  without,  the 
shuffling  of  feet.  He  sprang  up. 

"My  time  is  up,"  he  said,  agitatedly  but  low. 
"  I  must  go,  but  I  will  move  mountains  to  save  you, 
my  boy,  and  Captain  Warburton  also,  if  possible," 
as  we  clasped  hands  warmly,  for  I  felt  as  kindly 
toward  him  as  his  own  impulse  was  toward  me. 
"  I  can  only  do  my  best,"  he  pursued,  with  emotion, 


CYRENUS  SMITES  THE  ROCK  385 

"but  you  may  both  rest  assured  that  the  best  will 

be  exerted,"  "  I  will  see  Provost,  every  one, "  as 

the  door  swung  open,  "and  now,— God  bless  you, 

my  son,  will  you "  and  he  put  forth  a  hesitant 

hand. 

It  was  gripped  with  a  force  that  gave  me  a  satis- 
fying thrill.  A  moment  they  stood,  gazing  deep  into 
each  other's  eyes,  and  then  he  was  gone  and  the 
great  door  clanged.  That  last  instant  made  me 
glad  in  the  after  years. 

For  some  moments  after  the  sound  of  the  retreat- 
ing footsteps  had  died  away  we  sat  in  silence.  I 
watched  him,  his  sombre  face  half  in  the  dim  light 
of  the  lantern,  half  in  the  shadow. 

"  He  may  be  able  to  help  us,"  he  said  slowly,  "  and 

yet, "  and  he  shook  his  head  sadly.  I  knew  he 

thought  of  me. 

Into  the  succeeding  silence  there  crept  a  sound; 
cautious,  vague,  insistent.  John  lifted  his  hand. 
"Listen!"  he  breathed.  "Am  I  growing  crazy,  or 
can  you  hear  it  too?  I  have  been  hearing  it  all 
day." 

We  crept  toward  the  end  of  the  dungeon,  bending 
over  a  spot  which  gave  forth  a  vague  alarm.  For 
beneath  the  solid  stone  slabs  on  which  we  stood, 
there  came  a  curious  fumbling,  an  insistent  tapping, 
certainly  produced  by  no  prowling  rodents. 

John  and  I  peered  into  each  other's  faces  with  a 
strained  expectancy.  What  was  it  that  we  heard? 
Did  it  augur  good,  or  more  of  ill?  That  some  one 
was  at  work  beneath  us  was  certain.  Below  us  was 
the  baffling  secret  entrance.  Did  an  enemy  seek  to 
enter  it,  or  a  friend? 

Now  the  sounds  ceased  and  we  caught  a  soft- 
breathed  curse  under  us,  vague  and  far  away.  A 


3  86    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

moment  more  and  there  came  the  impact  of  solid, 
heavy  blows,  striking  upward  against  the  stone 
floor.  Several  muffled  thuds,  and  then — 

A  great  slab  lifted  upward,  v/avered  a  moment, 
and  then  fell  backward,  exposing  the  maw  of  a  black 
hole.  An  instant  later,  while  we  crouched  in  silence 
by  the  opening,  out  of  it  was  stretched  a  hand  hold- 
ing a  lantern,  which  it  set  upon  the  floor.  Then  there 
appeared  out  of  the  gap  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a 
man.  A  face,  leathery  and  quizzical,  surveyed  us; 
the  face  of  Cyrenus. 


CHAPTER  XL 
The  Trail  of  the  Grand  Seigneur 

We  grasped  the  little  man  and  drew  him  out  of  the 
gateway  he  had  created.  Truth  to  tell,  we  nearly 
cracked  his  ribs  for  him. 

"Let  be!  let  be!"  he  gasped,  trying  to  squirm 
away.  "Let  me  breathe,  I  tell  you !  What's  the 
matter  with  you?" 

We  finally  released  him.  "Where  did  you  come 
from?"  I  asked  in  deep  amazement. 

"  I'll  tell  you  later,"  he  answered.  "  First  thing  to 
do  is  to  get  out  of  here,"  he  observed,  drawing  deep 
breaths  and  ruefully  rubbing  his  ribs.  "Won't  be 
healthy  to  dodder  around  here.  If  they  should  catch 
us,  there' d  be  three  of  us  to  do  the  ghost  dance 
instead  of  two." 

His  little  eyes,  sharp  as  a  ferret's,  wandered  around 
the  cell,  his  thin  lips  curving  in  their  sour  smile. 
"Fine  quarters,  these!"  he  ejaculated.  "They'll 
wonder  what  you've  changed  them  for." 

"But  this  will  show  them  the  route  we  take  for 
the  new  ones,"  observed  John,  indicating  the  hole. 

Cyrenus  grinned.  "  Not  when  we've  got  the  lid  on," 
he  rejoined.  "  Do  you  suppose  that  if  you've  been  in 
here  all  this  time  without  finding  it,  that  your  land- 
lord will  be  able  to  do  it?  Besides,  if  he  did,  which 
he  won't,  it  wouldn't  help  him  any.  He'd  have  to 
come  the  same  way  I  did  to  open  it,  and  I'll  bet  he 


388  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

won't  find  the  route.  There's  no  spring  on  the  in- 
side here,"  he  added,  chuckling.  "Just  look  at  that 
stone  a  minute,  will  you?" 

We  examined  it.  It  was  a  ragged,  solid  slab,  simi- 
lar to  the  other  blocks  that  formed  the  floor  and 
very  thick — thicker  in  fact  than  its  fellows,  as  we 
observed  now  that  the  unsuspected  gap  appeared. 
Crosswise,  on  either  side  and  close  to  the  bottom  of 
the  slab,  large  holes  had  been  drilled  completely 
through  it.  We  noticed  that  the  edges  of  these  were 
red  with  rust,  evidently  just  disturbed. 

"When  that  stone  is  in  place,"  explained  Cyrenus, 
"  a  couple  of  thick  iron  bars  pass  through  these  holes 
and  extend  under  the  floor  on  each  side,  for  a  short 
distance,  into  small  crevices  in  the  rock  under  us. 
The  passage  is  very  narrow  beneath  us,  and  it  is  a 
mean  place  to  work  in,"  he  commented  reminiscently. 
"  When  the  stone  is  down,  the  bars  slip  through,  the 
projecting  ends  holding  the  block,  thrust  under  the 
neighboring  slabs  as  they  are,  so  that  no  power 
could  raise  it  from  above,  even  if  they  knew  it  could 
be  moved,  which  they  don't.  It's  a  snug  fit,"  he 
added,  ruefully  regarding  a  pair  of  bruised  hands. 
That  bar  slides  in  under  so  that  there  isn't  a  fraction 
of  an  inch  of  leeway  from  above.  The  bars  hadn't 
been  moved  in  years,  and  I  had  the  devil's  own  time 
starting  them,  for  they  were  rusted.  I've  been  work- 
ing all  day." 

"So  it  was  you  I  heard!"  exclaimed  John. 

"None  else,"  he  answered.  "I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it  when  we  get  out  of  this.  That's  the  next  thing. 
You  two  get  down  in  here."  He  pushed  us  toward 
the  opening.  "  I'll  raise  the  stone  on  edge  so  we  can 
tip  it  down  over  us.  We  can  all  get  under  it  and  ad- 
just it.  It  fits  like  a  glove.  Stuck  so  I  had  to  pound 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR  389 

it  up  with  the  second  bar  after  I  got  it  out.  Hadn't 
been  used  for  a  long  time.  That's  why  it  stuck." 

"The  lanterns!"  I  exclaimed. 

Cyrenus  grasped  his.  "  Leave  yours  there,"  he  an- 
swered dryly.  "  They'll  be  looking  for  you  inside  it  in 
the  morning,  if  not  earlier." 

And  indeed,  I  have  no  doubt  they  did,  for  our  dis- 
appearance that  night  produced  the  most  profound 
sensation  that  Frontenac  has  ever  known.  Con- 
fusion reigned,  I  learned  afterward,  when  our  in- 
comprehensible escape  was  discovered.  They  ran- 
sacked the  dungeon  from  floor  to  ceiling  and  never 
found  the  avenue  of  escape,  because  they  never  hit 
upon  the  strange  approach  to  it  from  the  outer 
world,  of  which  that  generation  knew  nothing.  In- 
deed, I  make  no  doubt  that  no  Englishman  ever  did, 
unless  he  were  luckless  enough  to  be  incarcerated 
there,  long  years  before,  when  his  countrymen  and 
the  French  were  by  the  ears,  being  secretly  seized 
and  taken  surreptitiously  through  that  dark  passage 
to  his  subterranean  doom.  For  I  am  certain,  though 
the  history  of  that  grim  old  dungeon,  now  crum- 
bling in  ruins,  is  and  then  was  enshrouded  in  sinister 
mystery,  that  I  know  something  of  its  purposes.  For 
tradition  tells  strange  tales  of  the  period  of  unrest 
that  accompanied  the  intrigues  and  storms  oc- 
casioned by  the  presence  of  the  rival  English  and 
French  as  claimants  of  Canada;  tales  of  strange 
disappearances,  of  mysterious  gaps  where  there  had 
formerly  been  arrogant  Englishmen,  and  I  doubt  not 
that  the  dungeon  held  many  hopeless  secrets  that 
were  later  hidden  forever  in  the  river  beyond.  In 
time  the  old  order  gave  place  to  the  new,  and  the 
French,  lapsing  into  quietude,  withdrew  and  left 
England  to  quarrel,— for  England  must  ever  quarrel 


390  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

with  some  one, — with  us,  of  her  own  flesh,  to  the 
south.  In  time,  through  a  strange  trick  of  fate,  a 
British  prison  was  erected  on  the  very  spot,  and  the 
presence  of  the  buried  dungeon  was  discovered  and 
the  grim  cell  made  to  do  duty  for  Englishmen.  But 
the  latter  had  never  learned  the  secret  of  the  place, 
the  strange  avenue  upon  which  Cyrenus  had  stum- 
bled by  a  God-sent  accident.  It  was  a  horrifying 
thing,  this  secret  egress  of  which  the  captive  knew 
but  could  not  avail  himself.  One  could  readily  imag 
ine  how  he  must  have  suffered  the  tortures  of  the 
condemned.  Perhaps  a  mysterious  reaching  out  and 
a  plucking  from  the  living;  a  weary  death  in  life  in 
the  depths.  Then  finally  the  dark,  subterranean  path 
to  oblivion  and  a  dreary  blotting  out,  with  the  awful 
details  hid  forever  from  the  world.  Not  a  pleasant 
picture,  but  that  tortuous,  black  tunnel  told  of  past 
dramas,  whispered  of  sealed  horrors,  shuddered  with 
a  pestilential  breath  of  the  dead  long  ago. 

If  the  hidden  history  of  that  grim  grave  could  be 
known,  I  am  convinced  that  many  a  thrilling  chap- 
ter would  stir  the  pulses  of  the  world.  However  that 
may  be,  the  flitting  of  John  and  I  that  night,  blown, 
in  a  moment,  like  gray  vapors,  out  of  the  British 
ken,  furnished  a  sensation  which  shook  Frontenac  to 
its  foundations  and  brought  the  superstitious  un- 
godly among  the  soldiery  whimpering  to  the  anxious 
seat.  At  first  the  entire  squad  that  had  had  charge 
of  us,  were  suspected,  albeit  they  were  trusted  men, 
of  aiding  our  escape.  Things  might  have  gone  seri- 
ously with  them,  had  not  they  been  able  to  prove 
the  next  day,  by  unimpeachable  authority,  a  perfect 
alibi  from  any  connivance  in  our  interest.  All  Fron- 
tenac then  wondered  what  occult  power  had  resolved 
two  stalwart  prisoners  into  thin  air  that  drifted 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR  391 

through  a  chink  or  two  out  into  the  night,  and— for 
that  tradition  lives — the  generations  wonder  yet.  I 
smile  as  I  think  that  if  these  poor  memoirs  of  mine 
should  ever  see  the  light  of  day,  what  a  flocking 
there  would  be  to  that  gray  ruin  to  find  the  hidden 
passage;  of  the  thunder  of  the  powder  train  that 
would  be  laid  to  bare  the  secret.  And  I  wonder  if 
the  reverberations  of  that  thunder,  echoing  afar, 
would  not  steal  across  the  white  water  to  Cyrenus, 
sleeping  in  the  village  churchyard,  to  the  very  spot 
where  he  lies  dreaming  in  his  grave,  and  if  the 
shadow  of  a  sour  smile  would  not  cross  the  drifted 
dust  of  his  face  ! 

Mindful  of  haste,  John  and  I  obeyed  Cyrenus  and 
dropped  into  the  hole.  A  moment  he  stood,  looking 
about  him.  Then,  poising  the  stone,  he  followed  us. 
We  stood  crouched  in  a  black,  damp  tunnel,  low 
ceilinged  and  reeking  with  a  heavy,  musty  odor  of 
dead  air. 

"Lower  the  stone,"  said  Cyrenus  softly,  his  voice 
sounding  weirdly  in  that  strange  place,  "and  fit  it 
over." 

We  soon  had  it  in  position.  Then,  with  some  little 
difficulty,  we  shoved  the  iron  bars  through  into 
place,  clinching  the  stone  for  the  last  time,  in  all 
probability,  that  human  hands  would  touch  it. 

We  started,  Cyrenus  leading  with  the  lantern.  A 
few  steps  further  on,  the  passage  grew  narrower 
and  lower.  We  had  to  walk  doubled  over  at  an  un- 
comfortable angle.  The  lantern  ahead  threw  a  faint 
glow,  revealing  dimly  slimy  black  walls,  rough  and 
dripping  with  moisture.  The  course  was  downward. 
The  rock  beneath  was  wet  and  slippery.  We  slipped 
and  sprawled  about  as  we  progressed,  but  our  spirits 
made  of  the  path  a  velvet  carpet. 


392  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"You  come  out  way  below  the  town,"  called  Cy- 
renus.  "I  think  this  part  runs  close  to  the  harbor. 
We  are  very  deep  down.  I  stole  a  boat  after  supper. 
It's  a  few  miles  above  the  town,  hidden  in  a  cove  on 
the  lake  shore,  a  place  I  know.  It  was  safer  there. 
I  had  it  taken  there  by  a  man  I  can  trust,  who  is 
in  sympathy  with  us.  We'll  make  Sackets  in  her  if 
we're  lucky.  We'll  have  to  make  a  detour  through 
the  forest  around  the  town.  It's  ticklish,  but  the 
only  way." 

The  roof  grew  higher.  We  walked  now  nearly  erect. 
The  tunnel  was  ascending. 

As  we  continued,  Cyrenus  told  us,  with  odd  chuck- 
lings,  how  he  had  stumbled  upon  his  strange  dis- 
covery. "  It  was  an  accident,"  he  explained.  "  I  was 
walking  along  the  side  of  the  river  when  a  part  of 
the  bank  gave  way  with  me.  I  landed  plump  in  the 
water,  but  I  had  my  eyes  open,  and— but  you'll  see 
in  a  minute.  It  was  early  this  morning,  I  saw  I 
had  hit  something  as  soon  as  I  got  inside.  There 
were  some  dry  pine  knots  just  within  the  entrance, 
must  have  been  there  for  years,  with  flint  and  steel. 
Must  have  had  'em  constantly  on  hand.  I  got  one 
going  and  kept  on,  for  I  was  mighty  curious.  I 
came  to  the  end  and  noticed  that  iron  bar  arrange- 
ment. Of  course,  I  didn't  know  where  I  was,  when, 
all  of  a  sudden,  I  heard  some  one  bellowing  over  my 
head  like  a  bull.  It  was  you,  Captain  Godfrey,  and 
you  were  singing,"  with  a  reproachful  note  in  his 
voice.  "  I  dught  to  have  left  you  to  hang  after  that, 
especially  as  it  was  some  cussed  love  song."  I  felt 
rather  than  saw  John's  blush. 

"  But,"  continued  the  little  man,  "  I  examined  that 
bar  an.d  tried  moving  it,  but  it  was  no  go.  I  wanted 
to  get  it  open  so  you  could  get  out  to-night,  as  it 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR  393 

was  a  safer  time.  I  had  to  go  back  to  barracks  to 
sneak  some  tools  to  work  with,  marking  the  place 
so  I  could  find  it  again,  for  it's  a  blind  spot.  I 
worked  several  hours  at  the  bars  and  finally  got 
'em  started.  Then  I  went  back  for  awhile,  for  it 
wouldn't  do  to  be  absent  too  long.  After  supper  I 
got  the  lantern  and  then  waited  around  awhile  to 
see  Captain  Gilbert  nabbed,"  with  a  grin  back  at 
me.  "Then  I  came  back  and  finally  got  the  bars 
out.  Thought  I'd  never  do  it. 

"  You'll  have  to  crawl  here,"  he  called  back.  "  The 
passage  is  small  for  a  way.  The  opening's  about  a 
hundred  feet  on." 

We  bent,  obedient  to  the  hint,  and  in  a  moment 
were  crawling  on  hands  and  knees  down  a  sharp 
descent.  We  wormed  along  like  snails,  the  rough 
stones  bruising  our  palms  and  knees,  anxious  only 
for  the  outer  world.  Suddenly  the  passage  widened 
and  the  next  instant  we  had  slipped  into  shallow 
water.  Cyrenus  was  standing  erect  near  us. 

"  Here  you  wade  a  few  steps,"  said  he.  The  lantern 
preceded  us,  then  suddenly  disappeared.  All  was 
black. 

A  couple  of  steps  more  and  we  encountered  a  wall 
of  rock  as  we  stood  in  the  water.  Reaching  out, 
I  felt  my  arm  slip  beneath  it.  Calling  cautiously 
to  John,  I  lowered  my  head  and  brushed  under  it. 
Then,  pushing  through  a  dense  clump  of  bushes  that 
fringed  the  opening,  I  stepped  out  into  freedom, 
John  following.  Cyrenus  was  there  awaiting  us. 

Above  us  was  the  starlit  glory  of  the  sky.  We 
stood,  close  inshore,  in  the  current,  that  rolled  in 
dark,  wide  majesty,  of  the  mighty  St.  Lawrence. 


CHAPTER  XLI 
A  Cry  in  the  Night 

Leaving  the  water,  we  climbed  up  a  steep  bank 
which  was  grown  over  generously  with  shrubbery 
reaching  clear  down  to  the  water's  edge.  Looking 
back  after  a  few  paces,  we  could  not  distinguish  the 
place  from  which  we  had  emerged,  hidden  in  the 
bushes  which  effectually  screened  it.  Small  wonder, 
indeed,  that  the  egress  to  that  mysterious  dungeon 
was  not  known  in  Frontenac.  Nature  had  most 
cunningly  arranged  it.  As  I  climbed  up  the  bank  I 
wondered  under  what  circumstances  it  had  been  first 
discovered  and  speculated  upon  the  construction  of 
the  dungeon  we  had  left.  From  its  rough,  unfinished 
appearance  I  had  thought,  soon  after  entering  it, 
that  it  was  an  enlarged  cave,  transformed  by  work- 
men, long  years  since,  into  the  grim  cell  that  had 
held  us,  and  others  before  us.  Men  could  work  under 
there,  with  the  rocky  materials  to  hand,  and  the 
world  overhead  would  never  know  of  it. 

Arrived  at  the  crest  of  the  bank,  we  found  our- 
selves in  the  deep  forest  that  skirted  the  river's  edge, 
at  that  time,  almost  continuously,  save  for  the  few 
intervening  towns,  from  the  lake  to  the  sea.  Cyrenus 
pointed  a  little  way  above,  where  the  overhanging 
bank  of  soft  forest  soil  had  crumbled. 

"It  was  there  I  went  down,"  he  said,  "and  if  I 
hadn't  fallen  directly  in  that  spot  below  us,  you 


A  CRY  IN  THE  NIGHT  395 

two  would  still  be  cooling  your  heels  yonder.  And  I 
guess  I'd  not  been  able  to  do  much  for  you  except 
to  gape  at  your  hanging,  and,  I  hope,  bring  back 
a  good  account  of  your  end  to  Sackets." 

"  Cyrenus,  you're  a  brick  !"  John  averred,  reaching 
for  him.  Cyrenus  evaded  the  grasp  with  positive 
terror.  "No,  you  don't!"  he  said.  "I  haven't 
breathed  right  since  I  broke  in  on  you  two." 

We  had  been  advancing  through  the  woods.  There 
came,  close  at  hand,  a  low  whine. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  exclaimed  Cyrenus,  "I  nearly 
forgot  him."  He  slipped  back  through  the  trees  for 
a  moment,  then  there  came  bounding  toward  us  a 
vague,  black  shape  that  brought  up  with  a  crash 
against  John's  legs,  leaping  up  into  his  face  with 
low  whines  and  lapping  tongue,  a  severed  rope  flying 
about  his  neck  as  he  gamboled. 

"Gypso,  by  all  that's  holy  !"  exclaimed  John,  hug- 
ging the  animal.  "Why,  how  did  he  get  here?" 

Cyrenus  explained  the  hound's  coming  to  Frontenac. 
"I  brought  him  down  this  afternoon  and  tied  him 
yonder  with  some  provender,"  he  added.  "Thought 
we'd  want  to  bring  him  back  with  us." 

He  extinguished  the  lantern  and  dropped  it.  "We 
are  not  far  from  the  town,"  he  explained  softly, 
"  and  we  can't  afford  to  take  any  chances.  We  must 
go  north  and  then  head  west,  to  pass  the  town 
through  the  forest.  It's  dark  in  the  woods,  but  we 
can't  take  the  chances  of  a  light.  We  can  skirt  the 
clearings  close  enough  to  keep  our  bearings.  We 
must  hurry,  for  I  want  to  get  to  that  boat  to-night. 
There  is  a  trail  on  the  other  side  that  leads  to  the 
cabin  of  a  queer  little  miser,  a  Frenchman,  yonder, 
and  from  there  it  is  only  a  short  distance  to  the 
lake  and  the  spot  where  I  hid  the  boat.  We  can 


396  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

make  time  after  we  work  around  to  that  trail.  Come 
on,  and,  John,  you  keep  that  dog  still." 

A  word  was  all  the  animal  needed,  seasoned  veteran 
that  he  was.  He  glided  softly  after  John,  who  led 
us,  noiseless  as  a  shadow.  We  proceeded  in  the  dark- 
ness with  a  speed  that  would  have  appeared  incom- 
prehensible to  a  novice,  for  we  were  all  experienced 
woodsmen.  Since  his  arrival  from  England,  Cyrenus 
had  spent  considerable  time  in  the  forest  and  was 
thoroughly  at  home  in  it,  and  as  for  John  and  I, 
it  had  always  been  for  us  the  best  loved  of  habi- 
tations. So  we  glided  on,  dark  patches  in  the  gloom, 
keeping  close  to  the  fringe,  ready  to  slip  like  shadows 
into  the  deeper  murk  if  molested.  Arrived  at  a  safe 
point  beyond  the  town,  we  veered  to  the  west- 
ward, working  our  way  over  rotting  logs,  through 
snares  of  twisted  vines  and  brambles,  diving 
under  low,  spreading  branches  and  climbing  over 
an  occasional  abattis  of  fallen,  dead  timber  that 
barred  our  way.  Occasionally  we  came  to  streams, 
finding  them  all  possible  to  wade  save  one,  which 
we  swam.  We  were  unencumbered  with  weapons 
except  Cyrenus,  who  swam  with  a  pistol  in  his  teeth 
and  a  knife  in  his  belt.  My  own  had,  of  course, 
been  taken  from  me.  Shoulder  to  shoulder  with  John, 
across  the  black  water,  still  beneath  the  stars,  moved 
the  dog. 

Regaining  the  shore,  we  proceeded  on  till  we  had 
reached  a  point  above  the  town,  then  we  again 
turned,  this  time  to  the  south,  to  reach  the  trail  of 
which  Cyrenus  had  spoken.  We  found  the  going 
easier,  passing  swiftly  along,  close  to  the  wood's 
edge,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  meanwhile  for  inter- 
ruptions. None  occurred,  however,  and  in  a  short 
time  we  were  on  the  very  spot  where,  two  years 


A  CRY  IN  THE  NIGHT  397 

before,  I  had  stood  while  the  dusk  gathered,  survey- 
ing the  town  which  I  was  about  to  enter  as  a  spy. 
I  looked  toward  Frontenac  that  I  was  now  leaving, 
still  as  a  spy,  but  now  known  for  what  I  was  and 
with  the  noose  itching  for  my  neck.  The  town 
sprawled  before  me,  gray  and  cold  in  the  moonlight, 
the  limestone  buildings  squatting  in  graven,  sturdy 
silence.  Not  far  away,  over  toward  the  fort,  I  could 
see  the  prison  we  had  lately  quitted.  Evidently  no 
alarm  had  yet  been  given.  As  it  was  already  past 
midnight,  our  escape  would  hardly  be  discovered 
until  the  morning,  when  we  should  be  well  on  our 
way  toward  home,  for  we  marked  with  satisfaction 
the  blowing  of  a  favoring  wind  which  rustled  in  the 
branches  over  us. 

"The  boat  I  stole  is  a  traveller,"  chuckled  Cyrenus, 
as  we  started  up  the  trail.  "She's  cut  right.  The 
man  who  owns  her  is  dead  drunk.  He  won't  know 
she's  gone  till  about  to-morrow  night.  They  can't 
stop  us." 

We  hastened  along  the  tortuous  trail  at  a  pace 
far  more  rapid  than  the  one  I  had  taken  in  approach- 
ing Frontenac  on  that  long  previous  day. 

Suddenly  the  dog,  which  was  ahead,  uttered  a  mut- 
tering growl,  and,  with  his  nose  to  the  ground,  stole 
forward  stealthily.  With  caution  quickened,  we 
crouched  behind  him,  waiting  breathlessly.  The  dog 
evidently  had  some  fresh  scent. 

Then,  faint  to  our  ears,  there  came  an  awful  sound, 
an  agonized  cry  from  far  ahead.  It  was  the  voice 
of  a  man  in  mortal  torment.  The  dog,  with  another 
growl,  bounded  forward.  "He's  heard  that  sound 
before!"  growled  John,  as  we  began  running,  all 
three,  in  pursuit. 

On  we  ran  along  the  crooked  trail,  the  cries  nearing 


398  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

now,  wild  with  terror  and  wringing  pain.  Out  into 
the  little  clearing. we  came.  There  was  a  rude  cabin 
there,  a  cabin  I  remembered.  From  inside  there  pealed 
another  of  those  horrible  shrieks.  A  growl  sounded 
in  reply;  we  noted  the  dog,  crouched  before  the 
closed  door,  hackles  up,  whining  and  scratching  to 
get  in.  John,  who  led  us,  lowered  his  great  head 
and  plunged  toward  the  heavy  door.  One  brawny 
shoulder  struck  it  broadside.  It  reeled,  shattered, 
falling  inward.  Over  it  and  into  the  room  the  giant 
leaped,  the  hound  following  and  Cyrenus  and  I  bring- 
ing up  the  rear. 


CHAPTER  XLII 
Into  the  Shadow  and  Beyond 

On  a  rude  table,  bound  to  it  with  ropes,  lay  the 
half  nude  body  of  Jacques  Pitou.  The  poor,  pinched 
face  of  the  miserable  little  miser  was  contorted  with 
suffering.  It  was  a  ghastly  yellow,  like  the  teeth 
that  protruded  from  under  thin  lips  that  grinned 
like  a  dog's  under  the  exquisite  torture  which  the 
wretch  was  undergoing. 

Surrounding  the  writhing  body  stood  Red  Rolfe 
and  a  half  dozen  of  his  savages.  They  turned  sharply 
as  we  entered.  On  the  repellent  face  of  the  leader, 
inflamed  with  the  drink  that  so  plainly  explained 
his  presence,  so  close  to  the  town,  on  so  inhuman  a 
mission,  appeared  a  mingled  expression  of  hatred  and 
incredulous  dismay. 

"You !"  he  snarled,  backing  away  as  if  we  had 
been  ghosts.  "Both  of  you  !  God !  How  came  you 
here?  Traitors  in  Frontenac,  eh?" 

"No,  you  red-handed  scoundrel!"  answered  John, 
his  black  eyes  smouldering.  "If  there  are  any  of 
your  black  breed  there,  we  did  not  meet  them!" 

"My  black  breed,  indeed!"  sneered  the  other,  his 
deep  voice  harsh  with  anger.  "That  from  you !  You 
who  fight  against  the  flag  under  which  you  were 
born!" 

"And  which  you  dishonor,"  answered  John,  with 
writhing  lip.  "It  owns  you  as  an  ally  only  by  suf- 


400  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

ferancc.  Its  real  defenders  despise  you.  The  rag  of 
piracy  is  a  fit  flag  for  you !" 

The  other,  white  with  passion,  dropped  a  hand 
upon  the  hilt  of  a  knife  on  the  table  where  the  bound 
miser  lay  moaning  feebly.  Pitou's  body  was  bleeding 
from  a  score  of  tiny  gashes.  The  sickening  odor  of 
burned  flesh  was  overpowering.  I  noticed  for  the 
first  time,  with  horror,  the  blackened  soles  of  his  bare 
feet,  cruelly  scorched.  It  was  the  old  story  over 
again ;  the  drink-crazed  tormentors  with  their  devilish 
cruelties;  the  inhuman  attempt  to  extort  from  the 
old  man  the  secret  hiding  place  of  his  real  or  imag- 
ined wealth;  the  sealed  lips  of  the  sufferer,  silent 
either  through  the  triumph  of  cupidity  over  a  tor- 
tured body,  or  because  he  had  in  reality  nothing  to 
impart.  For  the  past  few  years,  his  proximity  to 
Frontenac  and  the  fact  that  Rolfe  was  busy  with 
other  evil  matters  and  had  temporarily  forgotten 
him,  had  left  him  unmolested.  But  a  lull  had  come 
in  the  tide  of  Rolfe's  affairs,  the  poor  wretch's  re- 
treat had  been  discovered,  rum  had  banished  caution, 
and  Rolfe  must  have  his  holiday,  and, — if  there  be 
any, — the  money.  We  saw  what  we  saw  with  gleam- 
ing eyes  and  hands  that  were  hungry  for  the  feel  of 
the  throats  opposite. 

John  noticed  the  bravo's  clutch  at  the  knife.  His 
voice  rang  out,  biting,  vibrant  with  scorn. 

"Take  it  and  run  me  through,  coward ! "  he  cried. 
"I  am  not  armed.  Well,  why  don't  you  do  it?  I'll 
tell  you,  it's  because  you  are  afraid;  because  you 
know  so  well  that  I  would  kill  you  with  my  hands ! 
Well,  so  I  shall  presently,  but  first  there  are  other 
things  to  be  done." 

He  leaped  toward  the  table,  grasping  the  ruffian's 
wrist  and  twisting  the  knife  from  his  hand.  He  then 


INTO  THE  SHADOW  AND  BEYOND        401 

threw  the  cursing  adventurer  aside  as  easily  as  if  he 
had  been  a  child.  He  surveyed  the  knife  he  had 
secured.  The  point  was  crimsoned. 

"A  brave  weapon,  this!"  he  sneered.  "It  tells  of 
gallant  deeds,  of  the  conquest  of  the  bound  and 
helpless!"  He  passed  the  blade  over  the  cords  that 
bound  Pitou  to  the  table.  The  ropes  fell  severed  to 
the  floor.  Godfrey  lifted  the  old  man  and  bore  him 
back  to  us,  placing  him  groaning  on  his  pallet  in  a 
corner. 

"Here,  Gilbert,"  said  John,  slipping  the  knife  to 
me,  "you  and  Cyrenus  are  now  ready  and  I  shall 
have  one  in  a  moment."  He  smiled  grimly. 

The  face  of  the  bravo  opposite  grew  red  with  wrath. 
"You're  out,  both  of  you,"  he  growled,  "and  there 
will  be  traitors'  necks  to  stretch  for  it.  But  yours 
will  stretch  with  them,  if  we  don't  kill  you  here,  for 
I  shall  take  you  back,  you  two,  by  God !  dead  or 
alive,  and  the  little  weasel-faced  whiffet  with  you, 
whom  I  don't  know,  or  care  for  his  identity!" 

"You  talk  too  much,"  replied  John,  with  easy  in- 
solence, tossing  aside  his  coat  and  baring  his  huge 
arms  to  the  elbows.  "You  are  brave  enough  when 
intimidating  women  and  old  men.  As  for  men,  here 
are  three  young  ones;  two  of  easy  years,  and  the 
whiffet  is  youthful  enough  in  heart,  I  can  assure  you, 
and  I  think  you  will  find,  in  skill.  Moreover,  there  is 
a  fourth,"  indicating  the  dog,  who,  with  gleaming 
eyes  and  low  growls,  was  crouching  by  him.  "Believe 
me,  kinsman,  the  chances  are  more  nearly  equal 
than  you  think,  and  it  is  to  the  death  this  time." 

An  instant  there  was  silence,  while  we  glared  across 
at  each  other  in  that  rude  room,  lighted  with  candles 
and  flaming  torches,  for  the  bravo's*  crew  had  seen 
to  it  that  there  should  be  light  and  to  spare  upon 


402  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

their  villainous  proceeding.  Red  Rolfe,  with  his  coat 
off,  his  mottled  face  flaming  with  evil  fury,  on  the 
one  side,  with  his  six  braves,  every  one  a  stalwart 
giant,  with  black  eyes  burning  in  impassive  faces; 
on  the  other  Cyrenus,  John  and  I,  two  of  us  grasping 
our  knives,  the  third  with  only  his  naked  fists  as  yet> 
but  terrible  weapons,  as  some  of  us  knew  and  others 
were  speedily  to  discover;  and  lastly,  the  hound,  a 
formidable  ally,  crouching  at  our  feet.  The  flickering 
light  played  upon  the  odd  face  of  Cyrenus,  slit  with 
its  sour  smile,  lighted  with  piercing  little  eyes,  the 
eyes  that  danced  just  now  with  the  appreciation  that 
proclaimed  the  strange  little  warrior  a  man  to  fear 
in  times  of  stress  like  these.  The  glow  shone  upon 
Godfrey's  stern  face,  pale  with  the  prison  pallor, 
framed  in  the  unkempt  black  beard.  The  eyes  of  the 
hound  were  glowing,  while  he  gathered,  ready  for  a 
spring.  Groans  sounded  from  the  senseless  man  in 
the  corner.  A  moment  thus— a  tableau  that  can 

never  fade  from  my  memory — and  then 

With  a  yell  from  their  leader  they  were  upon  us. 
It  was  like  a  horrible,  unreal  nightmare.  They 
slashed  like  fiends,  for  they  were  evidently  determined 
to  return  us  dead  as  being  surer  than  to  try  to  com- 
pass it  with  us  alive.  We  were  hard  put  to  it.  I 
found  myself  engaged  with  a  tall  savage  who  kept 
me  busy  for  a  few  moments.  Like  the  others,  he  had 
a  knife.  I  sustained  a  slight  flesh  wound,  but  after 
a  little  I  knocked  his  weapon  from  his  hand  and 
found  his  breast  with  my  ownt  He  ceased  to  trouble 
me.  Another  Indian  came  bounding  at  me,  his  knife 
descending  in  a  powerful  thrust.  I  sought  to  parry 
it,  but  my  own  weapon  was  forced  from  my  hand 
and  his  steel  grazed  my  shoulder.  His  hand  was  at 
my  throat  and  it  would  have  been  short  shift  with 


INTO  THE  SHADOW  AND  BEYOND       40  j 

me  but  for  a  growling  rush  that  bowled  my  assail- 
ant over,  the  hound  at  his  throat.  I  picked  up  my 
knife,  and,  leaving  him  with  his  hands  and  face  full 
of  frenzied  dog,  I  looked  about  me. 

I  had  sprung  into  a  corner  when  first  engaged,  in 
order  to  render  it  impossible  for  one  of  the  treach- 
erous beasts  to  stab  me  from  behind.  As  I  swept 
the  room  with  anxious  eyes,  to  see  how  the  others 
were  faring,  I  saw  Cyrenus'  blade  go  clean  through 
the  throat  of  a  red  ruffian,  who  dropped  in  a  gush 
of  blood,  his  life  fast  ebbing  with  the  flood.  Cyrenus 
had  delivered  the  thrust  exactly  as  he  would  have 
done  with  a  rapier,  and  the  unexpected  tactics  had 
proved  a  surprise  that  the  savage  lived  hardly  long 
enough  to  appreciate. 

But  there,  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room,  was  a 
struggle  beside  which  our  own  seemed  puny  indeed. 
With  Cyrenus  and  I,  it  had  at  least  been  man  for 
man.  We  had  dealt  with  but  single  opponents.  Why 
had  there  not  been  more?  The  scene  opposite  told 
why.  While  the  little  man  and  I,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  hound,  were  engaged,  Red  Rolfe  and  three  of 
his  braves  had  tried  to  master  one  man— and  tried 
in  vain. 

For  they  reeled  as  we  turned,  bloody  and  battered, 
from  the  blows  of  those  flails  of  fists,  for  he  had 
used  no  other  weapons.  Rolfe  himself,  with  crimsoned 
face  and  a  closed  eye,  was  moaning  on  the  floor, 
clasping  his  stomach,  where  John,  I  judged,  had 
kicked  him.  One  redskin  was  making  for  the  door, 
a  swinging  right  arm  telling  of  his  state.  Two  of 
them  were  upon  the  giant,  clinging  like  wolves,  thrust- 
ing with  their  knives,  as  Cyrenus  and  I  leaped  to- 
ward the  struggling  group.  I  felled  the  rascal  who 
was  trying  to  escape,  as  I  passed  him,  for  it  would 


4o4  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

not  do  to  have  all  Frontenac  about  our  ears  just 
now. 

As  we  hurried  toward  them,  while  the  hound  still 
worried  the  feebly  struggling  savage  on  the  floor, 
John  managed  to  secure  a  leglock  about  the  limb 
of  one  of  the  redskins,  who  had  been  attempting  to 
throw  and  throttle  him.  It  was  the  deadly  grapevine 
twist.  John  straightened  his  leg  and  the  Indian,  with 
a  yell  of  uncontrollable  pain,  fell  to  the  floor,  his  leg 
broken  in  two  places.  He  crawled  away  moaning, 
the  agony  beating  down  even  the  stoicism  of  his 
race. 

We  stopped,  Cyrenus  and  I.  There  was  no  need  for 
our  assistance  now.  There  had  been  four  while  we 
were  singly  engaged,  and  of  these  four  but  one  re- 
mained. Two  lay  helpless  with  broken  limbs ;  a  third, 
and  their  leader,  still  grovelled,  gasping  for  the 
breath  which  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  never  catch 
again.  And  we  stood  there  to  watch  the  fmale,  the 
little  man  and  I. 

They  grappled,  John  and  the  Indian,  the  latter  of 
a  splendid  build  and  muscles  like  steel.  But  in  the 
broad  shoulders  and  deep  chest,  the  tapering,  sinewy 
back  and  waist  and  iron  limbs  of  the  white  man 
who  towered  above  him,  there  was  a  power  beside 
which  his  own  was  a  puny  thing.  I  know  he  felt  it 
as  he  stood  there,  facing  the  giant  whose  prowess 
had  been  a  terror  to  his  people.  But  he  gave  no 
sign  of  fear,  for  which  I  give  him  credit.  Weapon  he 
had  none,  for  John  had  wrested  it  from  him.  He  had 
only  his  natural  weapons,  which  were  pitifully  in- 
adequate against  the  man  who  faced  him. 

It  was  over  in  a  moment.  A  flash  of  time  they 
glared  into  one  another's  eyes,  then  the  Indian  tried 
to  jerk  the  trapper  forward  in  an  attempt  to  gain 


INTO  THE  SHADOW  AND  BEYOND        405 

a  hip-lock.  John  stumbled  toward  him,  filling  us 
with  sudden  dismay,  which  changed  to  wonder  as 
we  noted  the  success  of  the  ruse.  As  Godfrey  plunged 
forward,  seemingly  in  the  power  of  the  redskin,  whose 
black  eyes  flashed  with  exultation,  the  trapper  sudden- 
ly grasped  the  left  wrist  of  the  Indian,  forcing  it 
outward  with  a  sudden  jerk.  In  a  flash  he  had 
slipped  his  head  under  the  Indian's  arm  and  slid 
his  free  arm  between  the  tawny  legs.  There  was  a 
quick  snap  upward  of  his  body,  a  backward  fling 
of  the  iron  neck,  a  heaving  upward  of  his  arms,  and 
the  Indian  went  flying  backward  over  the  trapper's 
head  across  the  room. 

The  wretch's  skull  crashed  against  the  opposite 
wall.  The  body  fell  to  the  floor,  shuddered  con- 
vulsively and  lay  quite  still.  John  drew  a  long 
breath  and  surveyed  the  situation.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  a  few  insignificant  scratches,  he  was  un- 
hurt. 

"Well,  we  can  .start  now,  I  guess,"  he  observed. 

"You  have  not  finally  disposed  of  that,"  I  said, 
indicating  the  leader,  very  white  now,  who  was  pick- 
ing himself  up  with  some  labor,  his  face  a  spectacle. 

"Nor  shall  I,"  he  answered,  with  a  shrug.  "Some 
one  else  must  do  it,  Gilbert." 

"Who  else  than  you?"  I  demanded  hotly.  He  has 
ruined  your  life;  has  tried  to  take  it.  He  will  do 
it  yet,  if " 

"Gilbert,"  he  answered  gravely,  "we  both  have 
the  same  father.  What  is  to  be  must  be.  Because  of 
the  old  man  yonder  in  Frontenac,  I  cannot  kill  him." 

I  was  silent. 

"Where's  the  red  you  floored,  Gilbert?"  just  then 
called  out  Cyrenus.  "The  one  with  a  broken  arm?" 

We  looked.    The  savage  was  gone. 


4o6    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

A  voice  spoke,  full  of  bitter  malice,  of  savage  joy. 

"  He's  halfway  to  Frontenac  by  this  time,"  snarled 
Red  Rolfe.  "  You'll  never  get  out  of  here  alive.  They 
will  soon  be  here,  thick  as  hiving  bees.  It's  short 
shift  with  you  all!" 

His  eyes  fell  upon  the  stiffening  forms  of  his  men, 
ghastly  in  the  pale  light.  Madness  glowed  in  his 
eyes.  Before  we  could  realize  his  intention,  he  whipped 
a  knife  from  his  belt  and  made  at  me. 

"I  kill  what  lean!"  he  shouted.  Guard,  young- 
ster !" 

Taken  by  surprise,  I  stumbled  backward,  feeling 
for  my  own  weapon,  which  I  had  thrust  in  my  belt. 
His  blade  never  reached  me.  A  quick,  strong  hand 
interposed,  wresting  it  from  him,  a  powerful  arm 
hurled  him  far  to  one  side.  He  bounded  to  his  feet 
like  a  ball. 

"No?"  he  fiercely  bellowed.  "Well,  by  God  !  young- 
ster, we'll  try  this!" 

His  hand  flew  up  on  a  level  with  my  face.  It  held 
a  pistol.  I  bounded  forward  across  the  intervening 
gap  between  us.  His  finger  pressed  the  trigger. 

There  was  a  swift,  confusing  rush  of  a  great  bulk 
in  front  of  me,  out-reaching  hands,  trying  to  an- 
ticipate that  shot.  It  rang  out,  and  with  the  report 
echoing  in  my  ears,  I  was  kneeling  beside  a  great, 
shuddering  form  on  the  floor,  with  twitching  face 
and  hand  gripped  convulsively  over  his  breast.  A 
moment  I  knelt  there  with  a  wild  tumult  in  my 
brain,  though  my  lips  were  dumb,  a  throbbing  horror 
chilling  my  veins,  for  my  blood  seemed  turned  to 
ice.  Then  came,  as  if  from  far  away,  then  nearing, 
a  horrible  sound;  the  bubbling  of  wild,  maniacal 
laughter — Red  Rolfe  roared  while  his  brother  gasped 
out  his  life  upon  the  floor. 


INTO  THE  SHADOW  AND  BEYOND      407 

"Well,  my  God!"  he  cried.  ''Winged  the  big  one, 
eh?  I'd  never  hoped  for  it.  So  he's  gone  first !"  He 
roared  again. 

My  blood  grew  hot  again,  beating  like  fire  within 
me.  I  sprang  to  my  feet. 

"Rolfe,"  I  muttered.  "You  shall  not  leave  here 
alive.  It  is  you  and  I  now.  and  afterward,  if  you 
still  live,  the  whiffet  here  will  kill  you!" 

Cyrenus  grasped  my  arm.  "Neither  of  us!"  he 
cried,  exultation  in  his  voice.  "There  is  one  with  a 
better  right!  Look  at  the  dog!" 

The  dog  indeed !  He  crouched  by  his  master's 
body,  this  demon  with  fiery  eyes  and  growls  like 
muttered  thunder;  hackles  up;  every  muscle  in  his 
gaunt,  powerful  body  taut  and  trembling;  murder 
in  his  heart  for  the  man  he  hated,  the  man  he  had 
twice  before  met  in  enmity  and  who  had  now  killed 
his  master  before  his  flaming  eyes.  The  feud  of  years 
between  the  dog  and  the  man;  a  blood  feud,  to  be 
fought  out  at  last;  the  reckoning  of  the  score.  The 
scoundrel  looked  at  the  maddened  animal;  looked, — 
and  suddenly  remembered.  His  face  paled ;  he  reached 
for  his  fallen  knife.  As  he  stooped,  the  dog  leaped. 

The  powerful  jaws,  like  a  bulldog's,  were  fastened 
on  that  gasping  throat,  tearing  the  evil  life  out  of 
it;  the  fangs  buried  deep,  while  Cyrenus  and  I  stood 
over  the  dying  ruffian  and  gloated.  The  dog's  teeth 
sank  into  the  great  vein  and  opened  it.  The  red 
flood  dyed  the  brute's  jaws,  that  settled  the  firmer. 
The  man's  clenched  fists  beat  the  beast  impotently; 
the  glaring  eyes  blazed  futile  hate ;  the  tongue,  bitten 
through  and  through  with  his  agony,  was  thrust  out 
horribly,  as  he  uttered  strangling  gurgles,  gurgles 
that  grew  weaker  with  the  swelling  of  the  red  stream. 
It  did  not  take  long.,  for  the  hound  was  a  veteran 


40 S  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

and  a  fit  beast  to  champion  his  passing  master. 
The  bravo  had  no  chance.  When  the  dog  had  left 
him,  for  he  knew  when  his  task  was  done,  Rolfe 
breathed  raggedly  once  or  twice  and  then  lay  still. 
The  hound,  with  bloody  jaws,  padded  softly  to  his 
master.  He  peered  into  the  white  face  and  whined. 

Cyrenus  and  I  knelt  beside  the  dying  man.  I 
raised  his  head  tenderly,  resting  it  against  my  knee, 
smoothing  back  the  black  hair  that  fell  over  the 
chilling  forehead.  It  seemed  unreal,  a  thing  evilly 
imagined ;  this  passing  out  into  the  dark ;  this  rending 
of  the  bond.  As  I  watched  him  through  dim  eyes, 
his  own  opened.  A  shudder  passed  through  the 
great  frame.  He  coughed,  blood  bubbling  from 
his  lips. 

"Through  the  lungs,"  he  gasped,  speech  choking 
him.  "I'm  done  for,— boys,  both—'  the  old  smile 
flashing  toward  Cyrenus.  "I'm  bleeding  fast — inside. 

A  few — moments  more ' '  A  hand,  weakly  extended 

on  either  side,  was  clasped  in  our  own. 

"And  it  was  for  me!"  I  cried,  the  bitterness  of 
death  smiting  me  like  a  mighty  wave;  the  thought 
of  this  man,  who  had  all  to  live  for,  suffering  death 
for  the  preserving  of  my  own  poor  life,  which  must, 
though  unknown  to  him,  be  henceforth  so  lonely; 
the  thought  that  was  even  more  bitter,  that  of  the 
other  life,  fair  and  young,  lost  to  me,  that  must  be 
blasted  through  the  sacrifice.  The  incomprehensible 
irony  of  it  all  struck  me  like  a  blow;  the  things  as 
they  were  ordered;  the  fiat  that  doomed  me  to  live 
while  he  slept  and  she  sorrowed. 

"O,  John!"    I  cried.    "I  wish " 

"Hush,  Gilbert,"  he  gasped.  "You— would  have 
done  the  same— for  me.  I  tried — to  knock  his  arm 
up — but— he  was  too  quick.  Where — is  he?" 


INTO  THE  SHADOW  AND  BEYOND        409 

"Dead  on  the  floor,  near  you,"  replied  Cyrenus 
grimly.  "The  hound  killed  him." 

The  dog  thrust  his  face  close  to  his  master's.  John 
fondled  his  head.  "Good  dog,"  he  said  simply.  "I 
am  glad — it  was  you." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  His  pulse  weak- 
ened; he  was  going  fast.  His  head  turned  wearily, 
the  great,  black  eyes  staring  wistfully  through  the 
log  walls,  back  into  the  past.  On  either  side,  Cyrenus 
and  I  held  his  cold,  nerveless  hands.  Cyrenus  had 
folded  his  coat  and  slipped  it  under  his  head.  Finally 
he  spoke,  so  low  we  could  scarcely  hear  him. 

"It's  been — a  lonely  way,"  he  murmured.  "I  had 
thought, — but  it's — nearly  over!" 

He  turned  his  face  to  mine.  "Gilbert,"  he  said 
"I  loved  her, — you  know.  Tell  her  so." 

I  bowed  my  head,  unable  to  speak. 

"And,"  he  said,  "in  the  days — to  come, — when 
you  and  yours  are  happy, — think  of  her, — Gilbert, — 
and  be  kind  to  her, — for  she — will  be  lonely." 

Happy  in  the  coming  days !  I  was  glad,  at  the 
end  of  all  for  him,  that  he  did  not  know. 

The  head  settled  back,  the  great  eyes  staring  up- 
ward into  our  own. 

"Out  into— the  dark,"  he  whispered.  "Still— the 
lonely  way " 

The  voice  was  still.  Cyrenus  closed  his  eyes,  the 
big  tears  dropping  upon  the  white  face,  tears  that 
ennobled  the  little  man  and  his  manhood.  As  for 
me,  I  knelt  in  the  shadow,  silent  and  overwhelmed; 
words  of  solemn  import,  ages  old,  beating  in  my 
brain ;  the  words  of  the  gentle  Nazarene : 

"Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man 
lay  down  his  life  for  his  friend." 


CHAPTER  XLIII 
Till  the  Book  Unfolds 

We  managed,  with  infinite  labor,  to  convey  him 
between  us,  through  the  forest  to  the  lake  shore 
and  the  cove,  where  the  boat  that  Cyrenus  had 
brought  lay  in  waiting.  We  were  determined,  the 
little  man  and  I,  that  his  body  should  rest  where 
his  stout  heart  had  been,  under  the  sod  for  which 
he  had  fought  with  the  strength  of  ten,  for  which 
he  had  battled  with  the  love  of  liberty  that  was 
in  him. 

When  we  arose  from  beside  his  body,  we  made 
hasty  preparations  for  departure.  We  knew  that 
ere  long,  too  soon  perhaps,  that  all  Frontenac  would 
be  at  the  cabin,  led  by  the  disabled  Indian  who  had 
escaped  and  likely  by  now  given  the  alarm,  and 
that  the  tortured  Pitou  would  receive  attention. 
We  made  him  as  comfortable  as  possible,  then,  pro- 
curing a  lantern,  which  we  found  in  the  cabin,  we 
lifted  the  dead  man,  a  numbing  weight,  and  stepped 
out  with  the  hound,  a  sad  procession,  into  the  chilly 
night,  leaving  the  cabin  and  its  ghastly  company 
till  the  searchers  should  come  from  Frontenac. 

The  distance  was  not  great,  but  it  was  a  muscle- 
racking  strain.  I  locked  my  hands  beneath  his  shoul- 
ders, the  lantern  depending  from  my  fingers,  the 
ghostly  glow  serving  indifferently  to  indicate  the 
way.  Cyrenus  held  him  by  the  knees.  It  was  a 


TILL  THE  BOOK  UNFOLDS  411 

heavy  weight.  We  had  frequently  to  stop  and  rest 
a  moment,  but  the  need  for  haste  urged  us  on.  So 
we  staggered  onward  through  the  dense  thickets 
and  over  dead  logs,  stumbling  often  while  the  dead 
weight  sagged,  seeming  ready  to  tear  our  arms  from 
their  sockets.  Our  backs  were  breaking;  we  panted 
for  breath ;  but  we  were  near  the  end  now  and  plung- 
ed on.  Finally  we  reached  the  shore.  Close  at  hand, 
moored  to  the  bank  in  deep  water,  lay  the  boat, 
a  craft  of  respectable  size.  We  laid  the  great,  still 
form  decently  in  the  bottom,  placing  it  upon  a 
strip  of  canvas  which  we  found  there.  I  thought, 
as  we  were  laboring  with  our  senseless  burden,  of 
the  splendid  strength  that  was  gone  with  him;  the 
strength  that  would  have  performed,  with  ease  and 
unaided,  such  a  task  as  we  had  together  completed 
with  such  infinite  labor.  A  rush  of  tears  blinded  my 
haggard  eyes. 

Hastily  hoisting  the  sails,  which  Cyrenus,  for  cau- 
tion's sake,  had  lowered,  we  took  in  the  hound  and 
pushed  out.  Cyrenus  was  at  the  helm,  bringing 
the  boat  up  into  the  wind,  which  was  strong  and 
blew  from  the  north.  Once  out  from  the  shore,  and 
it  caught  the  sails,  driving  us  south  at  racing  speed. 

It  was  dark  at  first,  but  after  a  little  came  the 
gray  awakening.  The  dawn,  dim  and  cheerless, 
gradually  crept  out  of  the  east,  spreading  like  a 
curtain  out  over  the  still  scroll  of  the  sky.  Now 
the  wind  grew  stronger,  lashing  the  lake,  which  began 
to  heave  in  long,  rolling  swells,  carrying  us,  dipping, 
with  them.  Here  and  there  were  bared  the  teeth  of 
whitecaps.  A  bank  of  clouds,  vanguards,  we  feared, 
of  an  autumn  gale,  came  rolling  up  from  the  north. 
The  moan  of  the  wind  deepened.  In  the  stern  the  dog 
whined  softly,  licking  the  dead  man's  face. 


412  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"We  had  best  tack  and  stand  west,"  said  Cyrenus. 
"We  don't  want  to  pass  too  close  to  their  islands, 
as  they  are  mostly  garrisoned.  It  would  be  better 
to  try  for  Port  Putnam  with  this  gale  coming,  but 
they've  the  lower  lake  and  the  river  full  of  boats 
and  it  isn't  safe.  Better  work  out  toward  the  open 
lake." 

We  tacked,  heading  southwest.  A  little  while  we 
drove  along,  it  growing  gradually  brighter.  The 
stars  paled  and  went  out,  the  gray  day  was  fully 
ushered  in.  I  sat  in  the  bow,  my  gloomy  eyes  turned 
to  the  southward. 

"Look,"  said  Cyrenus,  grimly. 

I  glanced  behind  us.  Frontenac  was  already  far 
astern,  but  the  harbor  was  dotted  with  sails,  skim- 
ming over  the  wind-swept  water  in  our  direction. 

"They're  after  us,"  commented  Cyrenus,  "but  we've 
a  good  start  and  this  is  a  good  slipper  of  a  boat. 
There's  a  reef  in  that  mainsail.  Shake  her  out, 
Gilbert." 

I  obeyed  his  bidding  with  all  speed.  Then  we  were 
off  again,  the  stout  craft  seeming  to  fly  through 
the  water. 

"Now,"  said  Cyrenus,  "if  we  don't  meet  one  of 
their  cursed  brigs  coming  back  from  a  cruise,  we're 
all  right.  Duck,  Gilbert,  we  must  tack." 

A  veritable  cloud  of  sails  was  in  pursuit,  but  we 
could  not  see  that  they  gained  much,  if  any.  Cyrenus 
brought  the  boat  well  out  into  the  open  water,  then 
sent  her  flying  before  the  wind,  directly  across  the 
lake.  The  pursuers  kept  on.  Now  some  of  them, 
larger  boats  than  our  own,  began  to  appreciably 
cut  down  the  gap,  though  but  slowly.  Our  chances 
were  still  good.  We  carried  a  deal  of  canvas  and 
every  stitch  was  drawing.  The  gallant  little  boat 


TILL  THE  BOOK  UNFOLDS  413 

slid  through  the  water  as  if  greased.  Soon  the  town 
loomed  low  on  the  horizon,  but  the  chase  still  con- 
tinued. 

We  must  have  been  a  couple  of  hours  out  when 
there  came  a  distant  boom.  A  solid  shot  came  skip- 
ping across  the  water  some  distance  to  one  side 
of  us. 

"  I  thought  some  of  those  fellows  were  armed 
schooners,"  muttered  Cyrenus.  "But  I've  yet  to  see 
any  one  from  Frontenac  that's  any  on  the  shoot." 

"  If  they  do  find  the  range,"  I  said  dryly,  "  we'll 
go  down  with  her,  along  with  John  and  the  good 
old  dog.  No  surrender,  Cyrenus.  Better  the  water 
than  the  rope." 

He  nodded  approvingly.  Another  half  hour  went 
by.  Several  shots  more  were  fired  without  effect. 
Some  of  the  boats,  with  greater  sail  area  than  our 
own,  drew  nearer. 

"I'm  afraid  that  unless  one  of  Chauncey's  brigs 
is  out  cruising,"  said  Cyrenus,  "which  it  probably 
isn't  when  it  might  do  some  good,  that  we're 
dished." 

"Then  we'll  drown!"  I  exclaimed.  Again  his 
approving  nod,  and  we  lapsed  into  silence  as  deep 
as  that  of  the  man  in  the  stern. 

Suddenly  I  leaned  forward.  I  had  been  facing  the 
fleet  since  its  appearance  in  our  wake.  "  Look,  Cyre- 
nus!" I  cried.  "They're  turning  about;  they're 
leaving  us!  What  is  the  trouble?" 

He,  sitting  quietly  there,  never  turned  his  head 
Instead,  his  eyes  swept  the  sky.  "That!"  he  an- 
swered simply,  with  pointing  finger.  I  looked.  From 
the  southwest  there  was  rolling  up  a  black,  opaque 
bank  of  clouds,  storm-fringed  and  menacing.  Light- 
ning flamed  from  the  heart  of  the  approaching  mass ; 


4i4  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

the  diapason  of  thunder  muttered  and  rolled;  was 
silent  and  growled  again.  Far  to  our  rear  the  erst- 
while pursuers,  facing  about,  raced  for  home.  Without 
my  noticing  it  the  wind  had  shifted  with  startling 
swiftness  and  this  terror  was  racing  down  upon  us. 

"Under  bare  poles,  boy!"  cried  Cyrenus,  spring- 
ing to  assist  me.  "There'll  be  h— 1  to  pay  in  a 
few  minutes!" 

We  worked  like  mad.  The  sails  came  rustling  down. 
Now  Cyrenus  again  took  the  tiller.  After  passing 
the  islands,  far  back  in  the  rear,  he  had  tacked  con- 
siderably to  the  southeast,  for  we  hoped  soon  to 
gain  American  waters  on  the  chance  that  we  might 
fall  in  with  a  vessel  which  could  afford  us  protection. 
We  judged  now  that  the  shore  was  not  far  distant. 
Presently  we  could  see  it,  still  several  miles  away, 
while  beyond  an  open  stretch  of  water  marked  the 
beginning  of  its  journey  to  the  sea  of  the  St.  Law- 
rence. But  the  shore,  would  we  reach  it?  For  now 
there  was  rolling  down  the  lake  another  black  mass, 
cloud-ribbed  and  terrible.  Chaos  was  to  rule  on 
the  waters  that  day. 

I  stood  gazing  at  the  body  of  my  friend,  helpless 
in  this  wild  waste;  deaf  to  the  roar  of  the  wind; 
blind  to  the  awful  portent  of  that  black  sky.  To 
go  down  in  that  seething  maw;  to  be  bruised  and 
battered,  buffeted  and  pounded  by  those  smashing 
billows,  without  the  ability  to  bend  one  of  those 
mighty  muscles,  now  so  useless,  for  his  preservation ; 
to  be  finally  cast  upon  some  rocky  beach,  vomited 
out  of  the  deep,  a  bloated  thing  of  horror !  Was 
this  to  be  his  fate;  a  bit  of  loathsome  flotsam,  hurled 
here  and  there,  in  wanton  diversion,  by  the  element 
that  should  eventually  spew  him  forth,  a  horrible, 
ghastly  burden,  to  be  committed  with  shudders  of 


TILL  THE  BOOK  UNFOLDS  415 

disgust  to  his  native  earth?  Was  it  for  this  that 
we  had  borne  him  from  the  spot  where  he  had  pur- 
chased my  poor  life  with  his  own? 

Better  a  bed  in  the  calm  beneath  the  storm;  better 
an  eternal  resting  place  far  below;  the  poor,  still 
frame  unbuffeted  by  storms ;  where  the  raging  of  the 
surges  over  him  would  be  no  more  than  the  purling 
of  meadow  brooks  in  his  unheeding  ears;  where  he 
might  sleep,  in  that  peace  which  passeth  understand- 
ing, silent  in  his  still  grave,  until  the  day  when  the 
great  sarcophagi  of  the  waters,  with  the  tombs 
of  earth,  unite  in  giving  up  their  dead. 

I  knelt  by  the  body  and  began  to  roll  about  it 
the  canvas  on  which  it  lay.  The  dog  watched  me 
with  sad  eyes,  as  if  he  knew.  And  he  licked  the 
dead  man's  face,  even  as  I,  for  the  last  time,  grasped 
the  dead  man's  hand. 

"Cyrenus!"  I  called.  He  was  beside  me,  steady- 
ing himself  in  the  pitching  boat,  his  hand  against 
the  mast. 

"If  three  of  us  go  down  to-day,"  I  told  him,  "one 
shall  not  come  up  again!" 

He  grasped  my  meaning  instantly  and  bent  with 
me  over  the  task.  We  rolled  the  canvas  over  the 
body,  securing  it  with  some  rope  we  found  in  the 
stern.  There  were  some  sand  bags  there,  also,  used 
for  ballast.  Three  of  these  we  bound  about  the 
still  form,  knotting  them  firmly.  It  was  soon  done. 
In  the  event  of  our  capsizing,  the  body  would  sink 
like  a  plummet. 

Our  work  finished,  we  raised  our  eyes  to  the  sombre 
sky,  Cyrenus  making  his  way  back  to  the  tiller. 
The  sweep  of  a  mighty  wind,  rushing  to  meet  the 
giant  which  was  coming  to  oppose  it,  drove  us  on, 
nearer  to  the  shore.  Now,  even  as  we  gazed  into 


4i 6  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

the  black  sky,  the  opposing  currents  met,  crashing 
together  in  a  deafening  reverberation  of  thunder. 

A  moment  the  boat  seemed  to  stop,  trembling  in 
the  clutch  of  those  wrestling  gusts.  The  next  in- 
stant she  was  heeled  over,  climbing  like  a  fly  up 
the  side  of  a  huge,  green  wall,  only  to  topple  over 
the  crest  down  into  a  hissing  chasm.  Cyrenus  and 
I  were  hurled  into  the  bottom,  where  we  gasped, 
drenched  with  spray,  clutching  the  mast.  The  dog 
crouched  howling  by  that  long,  still  shape  that  rolled 
and  lurched,  fearfully  inert,  with  the  pitching  of  the 
boat. 

A  flood  of  icy  rain  poured  out  of  the  black  vault 
overhead.  The  thunder  rolled  like  an  endless  can- 
nonade; the  lightning  writhed  like  a  soul  in  pain. 
Everywhere  that  great,  hissing,  boiling  waste  of 
water  raged  and  roared ;  everywhere  the  vast  mouth 
of  the  deep  frothed  and  foamed,  like  a  wild  beast 
attacking  its  prey;  everywhere  the  wind  shrieked 
in  mad,  elementary  joy.  The  boat,  poised  dizzily 
on  the  crest  of  a  huge,  uplifting  wall,  slid  swiftly 
down  as  it  dissolved  under  her,  only  to  reel  and 
mount  again.  Cyrenus  made  his  way  back  to  the 
stern,  grasping  the  tiller.  Broken,  it  swung  idle  in 
his  hands. 

Now  she  was  in  the  trough,  swung  broadside  to  a 
huge,  ripping  wave  that  came  thundering  down  upon 
her,  filling  her  half  full  of  water.  She  trembled  and 
turned  over.  As  she  did  so,  Cyrenus  and  I,  who  were 
ready,  sprang  clear. 

We  could  do  no  more  than  keep  afloat  in  that 
raging  waste,  and  I  knew  we  could  not  do  that 
long.  I  lost  sight  of  Cyrenus  and  wondered  dully 
if  he  had  succumbed.  Suddenly  I  heard  him  call 
ahead,  I  answered  it. 


TILL  THE  BOOK  UNFOLDS  417 

"Keep  afloat,  Gilbert!"  he  called,  above  the  storm. 
"There's  land  ahead,  quite  close." 

It  put  new  life  into  me.  A  few  moments  after 
we  were  flung,  bruised  and  exhausted,  on  the  shore 
some  distance  from  Port  Putnam. 

As  we  were  wading  out  of  the  water  I  heard,  close 
behind  me,  a  plaintive  whine.  Shaking  himself  as 
he  gained  the  shallows,  the  hound  followed  us  to 
land. 

*        *        *        * 

We  hurried  on  to  Sackets  Harbor,  after  securing 
horses,  for  the  storm  spent  its  force  quickly.  We 
arrived  in  the  afternoon.  I  first  visited  General 
Izard,  giving  him  my  report  and  acquainting  him 
with  John's  death.  He  was  profoundly  shocked, 
for  he  had  known  and  esteemed  him. 

"I  wish  to  acknowledge  our  indebtedness  to  you, 
Captain  Warburton,"  he  said,  extending  his  hand. 
"You  have  been  more  than  gallant  and  trustworthy. 
And  now  there  is  one  more  commission  I  would  like 
to  have  you  execute,  with  friends  this  time.  How 
soon  can  you  be  ready  to  start  for  Washington 
with  some  important  communications  which  I  wish 
to  send  by  special  courier?  There  is  also  some  work 
you  must  do  there." 

"At  once,"  I  replied  promptly.    "To-night." 

"They  are  all  ready,"  he  repeated  doubtfully,  "but 
I  dislike  letting  you  go  so  quickly.  You  must  be 
worn  out." 

"I  will  start  in  half  an  hour,  and  will  be  here  for 
final  instructions  within  that  time,"  I  answered, 
and  saluting,  left  him. 

I  welcomed  the  opportunity.  In  my  present  mood 
I  felt  that  I  must  have  action  or  go  mad. 

I  walked  up  the  main  street.    I  would  not  go  to 


4i  3    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SIGNEUR 

the  house  yet.  I  proceeded  to  the  bluff.  A  woman 
stood  there,  looking  out  at  the  tumbling  waters. 
She  turned  and  saw  me,  uttering  a  little,  joyful  cry, 
extending  both  her  hands. 

"Why,  M'sieur  Gilbert,  back  again!"  she  cried. 
"And  where  is  M'sieur  Godfrey?"? 

Something  in  my  face  whitened  her  own.  "  Why, 
what  has  happened?"  she  faltered. 

I  told  her  all,  as  gently  as  I  could,  from  the 
tragedy's  beginning  to  its  end  out  yonder,  averting 
my  eyes  that  I  might  not  read  the  agony  in  hers. 
"  I  shall  not  go  to  the  house,"  I  ended  low.  "  I  can- 
not. I  am  ordered  to  Washington  at  once.  Cyrenus 
will  tell  them.  I  have  not  the  heart.  But  you, 
mam'selle,  I  felt  that  you  must  hear  it  from  me." 

Then  I  raised  my  eyes  to  her  white,  stricken  face. 
She  stood  as  one  blind  and  dumb.  A  great  wave  of 
pity  for  her  left  me  trembling.  I  stepped  forward, 
lifting  her  cold,  little  hand  to  my  lips,  then  turned 
and  left  her. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 
The  Paths  of  Peace 

December  came,  with  its  wolfish  howl  of  unleashed 
winds  in  the  northland  I  had  quitted,  with  gray 
mildness  in  Washington.  The  Ghent  treaty  was 
signed;  the  nations  released  their  clutch  upon  each 
other's  throats.  But  news  crept  in  those  days. 
Ere  the  tidings  had  reached  Louisiana's  coast, 
Jackson  had  in  January  won  behind  his  cotton  bales 
the  battle  of  New  Orleans,  and  the  wretched  record 
of  the  national  arms  at  the  north,  generally  con- 
sidered, was  put  to  shame.  In  a  measure,  the  closing 
act  of  the  dreary  drama  of  our  land  operations  was 
a  redemption  of  the  past. 

I  was  busy  at  the  capital  for  some  time  after  the 
coming  of  peace,  and  found  ways  in  which  to  be  of 
use  to  my  government  of  which  I  need  not  speak 
here,  since  my  subsequent  active  career,  which  lasted 
till  age  had  laid  its  heavy  hand  upon  me  and  I  re- 
tired to  rest  for  the  little  time  remaining  to  me,  is 
sufficiently  indicative  of  the  success  of  my  endeavors. 
It  will  suffice  to  say  that  at  the  time  of  my  journey 
to  Washington  I  bore  most  complimentary  endorse- 
ments of  my  services  from  Generals  Izard  and  Brown. 
The  latter,  in  the  after  years,  when  his  worth  had 
been  recognized  and  he  was  in  his  rightful  place  at 
the  head  of  our  armies,  proved  a  valuable  friend.  I 


420  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

had  no  better,  and  to  his  kindly  interest  I  owe  much 
of  the  success  that  has  attended  my  career. 

The  spring  of  the  south  had  burst  in  balm  and 
bloom  when  I  was  ready  to  return,  with  the  assur- 
ance of  a  responsible  post  abroad  in  the  near  future 
and  the  friendly  interest  and  regard  of  influential 
men  whose  friendship  later  proved  good  fortune  to 
me.  As  the  day  approached  for  my  return  for  a 
season  there  was  a  tentative  pleasure  in  the  thought 
of  it,  but  there  was  also  a  wistful  pain.  Ambition 
reared  its  head.  I  was  young  and  not  of  the  weak 
type  that  pines  and  pules  for  the  love  of  a  woman 
when  that  love  can  remain  but  a  dream.  My  career 
remained  for  what,  with  all  the  power  within  me,  I 
could  make  of  it.  Though  a  lonely,  loveless  way,  I 
would  follow  it,  and,  however  stern  the  chase,  pursue 
and  capture  Opportunity.  It  were  better  so,  infinite- 
ly better,  than  to  sit  idle  in  the  shadows,  mocked 
by  the  wraiths  of  my  dead  dreams. 

As  I  strolled  through  the  streets  of  the  city  on 
those  wonderful  spring  nights,  breathing  the  soft 
air,  the  myriad  murmurs  of  the  exultant  emanci- 
pation from  the  white  death  of  winter  sounding  in 
my  ears,  my  thoughts,  tender  as  the  kiss  of  a 
mother,  winged  to  the  northland.  A  belated  awaken- 
ing was  there.  The  sweep  of  the  forest  was  still  bare 
and  brown;  the  grasses  of  the  year  that  was  dead 
were  stale  and  withered.  Out  in  the  lake  the  fragments 
of  the  broken  ice  floes  still  tossed  and  tumbled,  grind- 
ing together  in  the  grim  throes  of  dissolution.  Under 
the  unrest,  far  down  in  the  stillness,  in  the  calm 
that  dwells  below  the  heaving  waters,  which  rolled 
above  him,  lay  the  body  of  the  man  whose  soul  had 
gone  out  into  the  silence  for  me;  the  friend  whose 
life,  in  ebbing,  had  taken  with  it  an  irrevocable,  irre- 


THE  PATHS  OF  PEACE  421 

coverable  something  of  my  own ;  a  something  that 
would,  with  the  slipping  years,  when  I  should  sit 
among  my  memories  in  the  dusk  of  the  failing  day, 
call  to  me  out  of  the  silence  and  spell  my  eyes  a- 
dream,  gazing  out  and  beyond  into  the  mists  that 
veil  the  mystery. 

And  something  else  he  had  taken  with  him  down 
into  the  deep,  something  warm  and  living  and  true, 
something  I  had  lost  ere  I  had  gained  it— the  heart 
of  a  woman.  It  lay  with  him,  buried  in  the  still 
sepulchre  to  which  my  own  hands  had  consigned 
him;  and  the  door  of  my  own  heart,  which  might 
enshrine  but  the  one  fair  image,  was  closed  and 
sealed  and  against  it  was  rolled  the  stone  of  resig- 
nation. 

So  it  was  that  I  gazed  to  the  north  with  a  chaotic 
mingling  of  longing  and  of  dread ;  that  I  yearned  for 
the  sight  of  her  face  and  the  light  of  her  eyes,  while 
my  soul  shrank  at  the  emptiness  that  lay  by  the 
side  of  the  wide  water,  beyond  the  intervening 
reaches  of  the  awakening  valleys  and  the  sunlit 
hills.  The  light  of  her  eyes !  Sweet  eyes,  once  hued 
with  the  blending  of  the  glory  of  a  sunlit  sea  and 
smiling  sky,  but  shadowed  now,  while  they  mourned, 
misty  with  falling  tears.  Each  of  us  treading  the 
gloom  of  a  separate  way,  a  gray  way,  full  of  utter 
loneliness.  Mine  the  dream  that  lived  though  it  was 
dead,  that  must  live  till  the  sweet  eyes,  that  held 
the  light  of  the  world,  be  closed.  Hers  the  pitiful, 
the  hopeless  destiny ;  the  dream  that  was  unalterably 
dead,  dead  with  the  man  out  yonder;  that  might 
still  live  only  in  the  hope  that  trembles  before  the 
closed  door  of  the  Unknown— the  door  before  which 
we  stand  in  hushed  awe  and  wonder  if  indeed  Death 
holds  the  key. 


422  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

The  day  for  my  departure  came  at  last  and  I  set 
forth,  by  the  slow  methods  in  vogue  in  those  days, 
for  home.  A  season  of  languorous  sailing  in  indif- 
ferent winds  brought  me  to  New  York.  I  ascended 
the  Hudson  to  Albany  and  made  the  remainder  of 
the  journey  in  jolting  stage  coaches  and  upon  in- 
different horseflesh. 

I  journeyed  by  the  latter  method  from  Utica  to 
Watertown,  which  village  I  reached  in  the  afternoon 
of  a  day  in  early  May.  I  put  up  my  horse  for  rest 
and  fodder  at  the  tavern,  where,  long  before,  John 
and  I  had  heard  the  news  of  the  declaration  of  war. 
I  then  entered  the  taproom,  which  I  found  filled 
with  many  of  my  old  acquaintances.  There  was  an 
animated  buzz  of  conversation. 

A  welcoming  chorus  of  salutations  greeted  my 
entrance.  In  the  midst  of  them  I  found  my  hand 
grasped  in  a  firm  and  fleshy  clasp.  Turning,  I  be- 
held Noadiah. 

"Why,  Sergeant,"  I  exclaimed,  "I  am  glad  to  see 
you!" 

"Lootenant,  now,  Captain,"  he  responded  impor- 
tantly, his  fat  face  shining  with  satisfied  ambition. 
"I  was  made  one  right  after  you  left  on  that  last 
scout  of  yours  over  the  river.  They  said  it  was  on 
account  of  general  efficiency,  incloodin'  that  second 
affair  at  the  Harbor.  And  it  was  in  the  paper  that 
way." 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  I  said  heartily,  at  which  he 
thrust  out  the  great  folds  of  his  cheeks.  "  I  suppose 
you're  retired  now,"  I  added. 

"Yes,  two  wars  is  enough  at  my  age,"  he  replied, 
with  becoming  modesty.  "  Cyrenus,  though,— I  guess 
he's  itchin'  for  another.  I  never  seen  such  a  fire- 
eater.  Abner,  he's  behavin'  himself.  He's  back 


THE  PATHS  OF  PEACE  423 

on  the  farm  with  Betsey.  Betsey,  she's  got  more 
respec'  for  'im  now,  quittin'  a  sergeant  the  way  he 
did.  Don't  give  'im  down  the  banks  the  way  she 
used  to.  Why,  she  lets  'im  come  here  to  town  once 
in  a  while  by  himself." 

Noadiah  must  have  noticed  my  look  of  surprise  at 
his  mention  of  Bantwell's  name,  for  he  added,  with  a 
solemnity  befitting  the  announcement : 

"  We're  rekernciled,  me  an'  Cyrenus,  as  Abner  allus 
wanted  us  ter  be.  Cyrenus  quit  a  lootenant  too, 
you  know,  and  he  ought  ter  have  been  made  a  cap'n. 
He  re-enlisted  after  he  got  back  from  Frontenac  with 
you.  I  happened  to  hear  that  he  got  you  and  poor 
Godfrey, — God  rest  him  ! —  out  of  the  box  you  were 
in  and  that  he  took  chances  to  do  it.  So,  when  he'd 
got  back  and  you'd  gone  pikin'  on  to  Washington, 
without  as  much  as  stoppin'  to  say  a  howdy-do,  I 
stopped  him  the  first  time  I  seen  him  at  the  Harbor. 
Says  I,  'Cyrenus,'  I  says,  'I  want  ter  take  back 
them  words  I  said  to  you  in  the  tavern  at  Water- 
town,  before  this  trouble  came  up.  You're  a  brave 
man/  I  says,  '  and  here's  my  hand,  if  you  want  it.' 
And  he  took  it,  and  we've  been  good  friends  ever 
since." 

"I  am  glad  of  it!"  I  said  heartily.  The  two  old 
fellows  were  too  sturdily  similar  in  the  welding  qual- 
ity of  courage  to  be  at  enmity.  I  was  glad  the  feud 
was  healed. 

"And,"  added  Noadiah,  lowering  his  tone,  "an- 
other thing,  Captain.  There's  a  second  Mrs.  Swanson 
now,  and  I  ain't  a  widow  man  no  longer  and  neither 
is  she  that  was  Mrs.  Hankinson  a  widow  woman. 
We  was  married  two  months  ago." 

I  grasped  the  fleshy  hand  in  warm  congratulation. 
It  was  fitting;  it  could  not  be  better.  Noadiah  was 


424    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

worthy  and  gallant  and  the  ex-widow,  as  he  had  so 
emphatically  declared  to  me  on  a  broken  Sabbath 
so  long  before,  was  a  woman. 

"So  Abner  quit  as  a  sergeant,  did  he?"  I  com- 
mented. "I  believe  you  said  so." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Noadiah.  "  That  Sandy  Creek  affair, 
you  know.  If  the  war  had  lasted  long  enough,  I 
guess  Abner'd  quit  a  lootenant  too,  like  me  'nd 
Cyrenus." 

"  Yes,"  I  muttered  reflectively.  "  I  guess  so,  if  it 
had  lasted  long  enough." 

"I'm  satisfied,"  wailed  a  familiar  voice  at  my 
elbow.  "  An'  the  war,  it  lasted  long  enough  for  me." 

There  he  stood,  as  of  old,  unchanged,  lifeless,  list- 
less and  replete  of  settled  melancholy.  He  extended 
a  limp  hand  to  me  in  weary  greeting. 

"Jest  came  in,"  he  assured  us,  "from  the  farm,  to 
pass  the  evenin'.  It's  surprisin'  what  inflooence  a 
little  military  stint  by  a  man  will  have  over  a  wo- 
man. I'm  gittin'  more  leeway  these  days.  Good 
thing  I  enlisted."  I  smiled  unobtrusively.  The  potent 
power  that  had  forced  Abner' s  enlistment  was  through 
that  act  undone,  for  Abner  had  become  invested  in 
Betsey's  eyes  with  a  martial  glamour  that  inspired 
awe  in  her  breast  and  rendered  his  path  one  of  roses. 

"Let's  liquor,"  said  Abner,  leading  the  way  to  a 
group.  We  liquored  and  I  spent  some  time  convers- 
ing with  them.  As  I  had  rather  expected,  the  British 
had  not  made  their  threatened  invasion  the  previous 
fall,  though  preparations  for  it  had  gone  ahead  till 
the  news  came  of  the  suspension  of  hostilities,  they 
meditating  an  ice  attack  at  the  time.  Chauncey  and 
Yeo  had  continued  their  harmless  series  of  threatened 
movements,  unbacked  by  action,  up  to  the  time  that 
the  ice  closed  navigation,  and  the  end  of  the  war 


THE  PATHS  OF  PEACE  425 

found  them  each  solemnly  building  more  brigs  for 
the  succeeding  season's  operations.  I  doubt  not  that 
had  the  war  been  protracted  long  enough  Ontario 
would  have  been  strewn  so  thickly  that  one  could 
have  walked  across  to  Frontenac  on  the  boats  of 
the  rival  fleets,  the  sole  effect  of  whose  building  had 
been  the  denudation  of  the  forests. 

I  learned  that  Cyrenus,  since  the  close  of  the  war, 
had  been  at  my  father's.  Mars  seemed  astir  in  him, 
and  he  talked  either  of  joining  the  regular  army  or 
migrating  to  some  far  shore  where  there  was  trouble 
on.  I  determined  to  induce  him  to  remain  and  resume 
the  pursuits  of  peace. 

I  had  a  late  supper  at  the  tavern,  then  ordered 
my  horse  saddled.  I  mounted  and  rode  slowly  out 
of  the  village  and  onto  the  remembered  road  to  the 
Harbor.  I  recalled  sadly  the  riding  together  of  John 
and  I  to  the  town  on  the  night  of  the  reception  of 
the  news  of  war.  A  round  moon  rode  in  a  star- 
strewn  sky.  The  dreamy  drone  of  nocturnal  insects 
murmured  in  the  tall  grasses  that  fringed  the  road- 
way. There  was  the  occasional  hoot  of  an  owl  in 
the  nearby  woods;  further  on  there  sounded  the 
pessimistic  croaking  of  the  frogs  in  the  marshes. 
The  night  was  altogether  lovely,  but  I  rode  alone 
and  my  heart  was  heavy.  I  proceeded,  lost  in  a 
sad  reverie. 

Ere  long  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  post  showed 
close  at  hand.  Presently  I  rode  into  the  village,  pro- 
ceeding directly  to  our  stable,  which  was  some  dis- 
tance from  the  house.  I  turned  the  animal  over  to 
the  boy,  who  was  startled  at  seeing  me,  and  walked 
away. 

I  would  not  go  to  the  house  just  yet,  I  decided. 
My  mood  led  me  slowly  up  the  street  toward  the 


426  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

bluff.  It  was  late  and  the  street  was  well  nigh  de- 
serted. I  encountered  only  an  occasional  straggler. 

The  white  spectral  peace  of  the  moonlight  irradi- 
ated the  sleeping  village,  sprawled  in  silence  like  that 
of  a  country  churchyard.  The  mute  black  mouths 
of  silent  batteries,  the  cannon  already  rusting,  gaped 
near  at  hand.  The  log  forts  and  the  rude  barracks, 
holding  perhaps  here  and  there  a  handful  of  sleeping 
men,  seemed  tenantless.  Down  at  the  docks  on  Ship- 
house  Point,  mounted  upon  stocks  that  should  crum- 
ble to  decay,  showed,  weird  and  ghastly  in  the  moon- 
light, the  giant  skeletons  of  half  finished  frigates, 
precisely  as  they  were  left  with  the  dropping  of  the 
hammers  at  the  news  of  peace,  as  grotesquely  incom- 
plete as  the  tale  that  is  told  of  the  navies  of  Ontario. 
The  hamlet  drowsed,  bathed  in  moonlight,  still 
as  August  meadows;  as  if  war  or  the  rumors  of 
war  had  never  pierced  its  ears;  as  if  the  diapason 
of  the  cannonade  had  never  thrilled  and  made  of  it 
a  thing  alive ;  as  if  war  was  a  dream  and  only  its 
own  strange  peace  a  still  reality.  I  felt  the  spell  as 
I  went  on.  It  was  a  presage  of  the  days,  so  soon 
to  come,  when  the  old  village,  upon  which  the  eyes 
of  the  entire  nation  were  turned  in  that  memorable 
grapple,  should  be  but  an  obscure  frontier  post,  a 
sleepy  old  mausoleum  of  dim  memories ;  a  thing  for- 
gotten that  once  was  all  in  all;  a  crumbling  crypt 
of  hoary  traditions  that  would  grow  old  and  en- 
feebled with  the  flowing  of  the  years,  as  the  glowing 
present  crowds  out  the  senile  past.  The  paths  of 
glory, — ah  me! 

So,  in  the  still  peace  of  the  moonlight,  I  walked 
on  until  I  came  to  the  bluff.  My  head  bent  in  wist- 
ful retrospection,  I  advanced  to  the  edge  and  looked 
out  over  the  still  face  of  the  deep.  Not  a  breath  of 


THE  PATHS  OF  PEACE  427 

air  stirred;  the  lake  was  a  silver  mirror  in  which 
was  reflected  the  moonlight  and  the  glory  of  the 
stars.  Peace,  the  peace  that  passeth  understanding, 
rested  on  the  waters. 

Had  there  indeed  ever  blown  lashing  winds,  whip- 
ping that  calm,  shimmering  surface  into  boiling 
shapes  of  frenzy  that  beat  out  the  lives  of  men  and 
scattered  their  ships,  broken  in  driftwood,  upon  the 
rocky  shores?  Had  there  indeed  ever  sounded  from 
that  placid  sea  before  me  the  thunder  of  the  can- 
nonade, while  the  shots  were  returned,  in  murderous 
hate,  from  the  very  spot  on  which  I  stood?  In  the 
midst  of  this  still,  perfect  beauty,  in  the  white  radi- 
ance that  shaped  the  dark  deeds  of  men,  the  memory 
of  past  days  seemed  a  profanation. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  soft  stir  near  me,  a  soft 
tongue  licked  my  hand.  Dumb,  dark  eyes  looked 
wistfully  up  into  my  face. 

"Gypso!"  cried  a  voice,  subtly  sweet.  "Come 
here,  sir ! "  I  sprang  to  my  feet.  She  extended  her 
hands  with  a  glad  little  cry. 

"Renee!"  I  cried.  All  the  love  without  hope,  all 
the  bitter  longing  that  time  nor  death  could  assuage, 
rang  like  a  knell  in  my  voice.  I  was  bending  over 
her,  her  slender  hands  crushed  within  my  own,  gazing 
deep  into  her  eyes,  her  wonderful,  changing  eyes, 
now  so  dark,  so  full  of  shadowed  mystery  in  the 
moonlight.  A  moment  so  we  stood,  and  then  she 
drew  her  hands  away.  And  I  remembered,  remem- 
bered with  a  dull  pain  at  my  heart  that  grew  and 
grew,  and,  as  I  knew  so  well,  must  still  grow  until 
the  end. 

"When  did  you  arrive,  Gilbert?"  she  asked  me, 
"and  why  did  you  not  let  us  know  you  were  com- 
ing? Have  you  been  at  the  house?" 


428  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

"No  mam'selle,"  I  answered  her.  "I  have  just 
come.  I  walked  here  a  moment  first.  My  mood  was 
a  lonely  one.  I  wanted  to  think." 

"To  think,"  she  echoed  wistfully,  her  eyes  turned 
to  the  shimmering  lake.  "Ah,  yes,  M'sieur  Gilbert, 
we  must  all  think,  must  we  not  ?  So  much !  And 
so  much  of  our  thinking,  how  sad  it  is,  Gilbert ! 
Ah,  there  is  so  much  sadness  in  the  old  world,  so 
many  tears!" 

"  True,  mam'selle,"  I  answered  low.  "  It  is  a  gray 
old  world.  Fate  spins  so  many  skeins  of  life  awry, 
and  we  are  helpless.  We  can  only  wonder  why.  Why, 
indeed?" 

"Yes,  why?"  murmured  the  girl,  her  voice  break- 
ing. "  Why  is  it  that  the  splendid  fellow,  your  friend 
and  mine,  is  lying  so  still  to-night  out  yonder?  Why 
is  it  that  Dorothy's  heart  must  be  broken  with  its 
very  awakening?  Ah,  they  are  tangled  skeins,  Gil- 
bert, in  this  grim  old  world ! " 

"My  friend  and  yours!"  I  cried  confusedly.  "And 
Dorothy, — why,  Renee,  what  of  Dorothy?" 

She  gazed  at  me,  startled.  "  Why,  Gilbert,  I  thought 
you  knew!"  she  exclaimed.  " They  were  betrothed." 

"Betrothed!"  I  repeated,  like  one  dazed.  "But 
how, — Renee,  I  do  not  comprehend !  I  thought  it 
was  you!" 

"I!"  she  repeated  amazedly,  "I  do  not  under- 
stand you,  Gilbert." 

I  bent  forward,  seizing  her  hand.  "The  night  be- 
fore I  left  on  my  last  trip  across  the  lake,"  I  told 
her,  "after  you  and  I  had  walked  back  from  this 
spot,  do  you  remember?  Afterward  I  stepped  into 
the  garden.  You  were  with  him.  I  heard  him  ask 
you  a  question.  He  said  it  had  been  a  lonely  way 
for  him.  And  your  reply,  I  heard  that  also,  Renee." 


THE  PATHS  OF  PEACE  429 

She  had  been  looking  away.  Now  she  turned  her 
eyes  upon  me.  They  were  brimming  with  tears. 

"  He  had  confided  to  me  his  love  for  your  sister, 
Gilbert,"  she  said  softly.  "  He  asked  me  if  I  thought 
there  was  hope  for  him.  We  had  been  much  together, 
she  and  I,  and,  though  she  had  said  nothing,  I 
knew  there  was  hope  and  told  him  so,  for  we  women 
can  read  each  other,  Gilbert.  The  next  day  they 
were  betrothed." 

I  stared  helplessly,  overwhelmed.  So  this  was  the 
secret  which  John  had  meant  to  confide  to  me  that 
night  in  the  forest,  when  I  anticipated  him;  Dorothy's 
his  dying  message.  O,  how  blind  I  had  been ! 

"Her  heart  is  dead,  poor  Dorothy!"  said  Renee 
at  my  elbow,  her  voice  full  of  tears,  "  dead  with  him 
out  yonder." 

"Poor  child!"  I  said,  brokenly.  "And  I— I  have 
been  blind!" 

There  was  silence  for  a  space.  The  hound  sat 
silent  near  us,  gazing  out  over  the  moonlit  water. 
Now,  in  his  utter  loneliness,  he  threw  up  his  head, 
howling  pitifully.  Then  silence  fell  again  and  he 
sat,  like  a  graven  image,  eyes  fixed  once  more  on  the 
still,  radiant  waters. 

"  He  comes  here  nightly,"  murmured  the  girl  at  my 
elbow.  "  Watching,  always  watching, — and  waiting." 

"Waiting,"  I  repeated  mechanically,  for  the  word 
was  like  a  knell.  Then 

"Renee,"  I  told  her  low,  with  something  in  my 
voice  that  throbs  but  once  in  the  life  of  a  man,  "  I 
too,  had  waited,  till  hope  died,  and  afterward  I 
kept  vigil  where  it  lay  coffined.  But  now,  whether 
with  reason  it  is  for  you  to  say,  it  lives  again.  There 
is  something  I  must  now  tell  you,  something  I  had 
never  expected  to  say.  Why,  you  will  understand. 


430  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

But  since  that  night,  dear  girl,  the  night  in  the  gar- 
den, my  soul  has  lain  in  the  shadow.  Is  the  shadow 
to  be  lifted,  dear?  For  I  love  you,  have  loved  you 
from  the  beginning!  And  you — your  answer.  What 
shall  it  be,  Renee?  Now  and  irrevocably." 

Her  head  was  turned  from  me;  she  stood  with 
downcast  eyes,  silent.  I  grasped  her  hands,  drawing 
her  close.  Slowly  her  face,  lovely  as  a  flower,  radiant- 
ly pure  and  sweet  in  the  moonlight,  was  raised  to 
mine.  A  divine  world  unfolded  in  her  shadowed  eyes, 
a  world  of  promise  and  of  peace,  of  love  and  the 
lilies  of  the  field  of  life.  Then 

"To  the  end,"  she  whispered;  it  was  all.  But  it 
merged  the  white  grace  of  land  and  sea  with  the 
glory  of  the  stars ;  it  attuned  a  rolling  world  to  the 
wistfully  exultant  strain  that  can  sound  but  once; 
it  bound  us,  heart  and  soul,  through  the  day  of  life 
and  unto  the  expiring  glow  of  the  setting  sun  and 
afterward,  by  grace  of  the  thrilling  portent  that  the 
soul  whispers  of  God's  eternity,  stretching  inimitably 
beyond  the  world !  So,  heart  to  heart,  we  faced  the 
future  that  smiled  like  a  garden  gemmed  with  beaded 
dew,  radiant  with  bloom.  The  moment,  than  which 
there  is  nothing  like  again  in  the  round  old  world, 
was  ours;  the  moment  which,  though  so  soon  gone, 
was  to  leave  behind  it  enough  of  the  grace  of  its 
fleeting  exaltation  to  sweeten  all  the  after  years.  The 
after  years !  To  whom  do  they  not  bring  the  mem- 
ories of  such  a  moment,  with  the  wistful  swelling  of 
the  heart  that  throbs  more  quickly,  as  with  a  remem- 
bered strain  of  sweetest  music,  and  dim  the  eyes  with 
tears ! 

After  a  little  I  asked  her  low,  "  But  how  came  you 
to  care  for  me,  Renee?  I  had  not  dreamed  of  it." 

"I  have  cared  long,  Gilbert,"  she  answered,  "but 


THE  PATHS  OF  PEACE  431 

you  were  blind,  as  blind  as  was  your  poor  comrade," 
with  a  little  sob  in  her  voice.  "  You  were  both  braver 
with  men  than  with  women,  else  you  would  each  have 
learned  sooner,"  smiling  through  gathering  tears. 
"  As  for  you,  I  could  not  propose  to  you,  you  know," 
with  tender  coquetry. 

"I  thought  you  considered  me  merely  as  a  warm 
friend,"  I  aswered  humbly.  "There  was  nothing  to 
indicate  that  I  might  have  presumed " 

"A  woman  may  not  wear  her  heart  upon  her 
sleeve,"  she  told  me,  with  a  fine  dignity.  "What 
the  lover  may  plainly  see,  in  such  case,  so  may  the 
world,  and  the  prize's  value  lessens  in  his  eyes.  And 
a  bold  lover,  mon  chere,"  now  with  laughter  in  her 
eyes,  "  will  make  an  end  of  doubt,  for  weal  or  woe. 
He  will  not  dawdle." 

"  True,  Renee,"  I  answered,  with  humility.  "  I  was 
faint  of  heart,  though  deep  in  love.  And  you 
divined  it?" 

"I  had  thought  so,"  she  answered,  her  eyes  now 
darkening  with  a  reminiscent  shadow,  "until  you 
left  me  so  suddenly,  the  day  you  told  me  of  him  out 
yonder,"  indicating  the  moonlit  lake,  "nor  stopped, 
even  to  comfort  your  sister  or  any  of  us,  all  of 
whom  loved  him.  Then  I  thought  you  selfish  in  your 
grief,  and  afterward,  when  you  failed  to  write  me, 
I  wondered  if,  after  all,  you  had  ever  cared  for  me 
as  I  had  thought.  And  I  suffered  agonies  because 
of  my  feeling  for  you,  that  seemed  so  unrequited,  for 
I  am  proud,  Gilbert!"  with  a  regal  lifting  of  her 
little  head.  "But  now  I  understand,"  her  lovely 
hand  upon  my  shoulder.  "  Poor  boy,  you  have  suf- 
fered, as  have  I.  But  now  the  day  breaks  for  us." 

"  'And  the  shadows  flee  away,'  dear  heart,"  I 
breathed,  drawing  her  close.  "  Ours  the  full  of  life, 


432    THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

and,  please  God,  through  His  eternity.  The  white 
world,  is  it  not  radiant  in  the  moonlight?  It  seems 
as  if  it  would  be  so  always,  a  white  way  of  peace  to 
the  end!" 

"Ah,  no,  Gilbert,"  she  answered,  moving  back  a 
step,  her  white  hands  upon  my  shoulders,  sweet  eyes 
seeking  my  own,  her  voice  laden  with  the  sad  in- 
tuition of  woman  that  is  the  heritage  of  ages  of 
women's  tears.  "  There  will  be  often  the  gray,  often 
the  storm  and  rain.  But  the  sun  shines,"  with  a 
brave  smile,  "behind  it  all  and  presently  the  clouds 
roll  away  and  show  the  blue —  and  the  rain  is  over 
and  gone." 


THE  END 


A     000  040  424    4 


WSADENA  HOSPITAL  ASSOCIATION 


